


The Will of Daedra

by The_Captain



Series: The Cons of Being Dovahkiin [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Companions, Daedra, Daedra Worship, Daedric Princes, Daedric Quests, Hunting, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, It's got Sanguine in it you better bet it's going to be deviant, Mild Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Plotting, Quests, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Werewolves, a lot of characters pop up in this that aren't tagged, i love odahviing, it's just Sanguine being Sanguine, relationships not major focus of the story, this is a lot of me playing with greek mythology type stories, this is rough sorry friends, to be clear sanguine and dragonborn aren't in a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Captain/pseuds/The_Captain
Summary: When the Dragonborn nearly died, lying limp atop the Throat of the World, Oblivion was plunged into chaos. Everyone wanted a piece of the hero of legend, to spit in the face of the Divines by claiming her as their Champion.Now that the Dragonborn is no longer on her deathbed, the Prince of the Hunt has decided that he can't wait to find out if he'll get to chase a dragon's soul in his Hunting Grounds. Hircine comes to Skyrim and he's after blood, and Mera has to race across the continent to cure herself of lycanthropy before he catches up.Unfortunately, there might be a fate worse than being caught by Hircine and his Hounds and all of Oblivion rests in the balance.(Part of a series, but you don't need to read the other parts to enjoy it. I recommend reading After His Fall before this for a complete understanding)





	1. A Diamond and a Rose

There was something wrong with her manor. Mera could sense it the second she walked through the door. The air was buzzing with energy that made her spine stiffen and the baby hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. Her hand was on her sword, unsheathing it from the scabbard in an instant as she looked around with wide eyes. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to _go_ , to move, to fight, scream, jump, kick, fuck.

It was unbearable and the wolf woke within her, howling in discontent.

With slow, silent steps she sulked through the mostly vacant Lakeview manor, empty save a few scant furnishings. It was far from complete so she’d sent Raya out to get some building supplies, and she cursed herself under her breath for not having her housecarl here to help her. Where was Lydia when she needed her?

Clinging to the wall of the entryway, she slid along, eyes darting around the main hall in an attempt to source the cause of her deep seeded distress. Finding nothing, she crept into the empty room, staying low to the ground as she moved.

She continued her path up the stairs, headed towards her bedroom. Seeing her bed left her more confused. She kept quiet a few valuables near where she slept; Mera liked to see them if she woke in the middle of the night. If her jewels and gems were still lying undisturbed, then maybe there was nobody in the house after all.

Then she felt a tickle at the back of her neck, like electricity flowing through her spine and she stood up with a jolt, turning on her heel with her blade ready only to find the area behind her as empty as it had been just moments before.

“Mera, my sweet, you really need learn to loosen up,” The voice had her jumping out of her skin as she reared, turning again and ready to swing as her mind, a moment slower, tried to figure out how she _knew_ that voice.

The answer stood before her in all of its seven foot, ebony glory. A daedra, huge and intimidating smiled at her, a bottle in one hand an a tankard in the other.

There weren’t many things she remembered from that night, but if there was anything she’d never forget it was his voice.

Sanguine.

A red hot flush flooded her cheeks at the sight of him, and her mouth hung open with an absence of words as she struggled to find something to say.

“Shocked speechless? I know, it's not every day I make a house call, but I am willing to make an exception for my dear Champion.” He crooned as he spoke to her, pouring liquid into the tankard, “Seriously, though, relax! Have a drink.” Holding the mug out to her, he raised his brows expectantly. Hesitantly she took it, grasping the tankard in her hand with no intent to drink from it.

“...What are you doing here?” She asked, speaking slowly. Unlike some of the other Daedric Lords she’d met, Sanguine had never tried to hurt her or command her will, so she didn’t expect violence from the physical manifestation of what was practically a god in her household. However, she hardly trusted him. Sanguine, as she learned the hard way, was a troublemaker. Dangerous in his own right. And like the rest of the Lords he was very, very powerful.

“In all my years, and there have been many of them, I’ve seen my Rose used for a great number of things. My Champions have used it to procure great wealth and women, or to skew the odds of a battle in their favor. But never have I seen someone use it as a walking stick.”

A harsh embarrassed blush flooded her cheeks. After fighting Alduin, when she was injured and could hardly keep herself on her feet on High Hrothgar, Mera had used the Sanguine Rose as a cane to keep her upright in a few tight pinches. It was hardly her finest moment. “Oh. You saw that?”

“When I feel a Champion’s hands touch my staff, I can hardly think to ignore it.” He purred the words, looking at her with a smirk and a wink. He leaned closer to her, and she leaned further away, unsure and uncomfortable. “But don’t get me wrong. I thought it was charming, really I did, but you really threw me for a loop there for a minute.”

Mera paused for a moment, watching as Sanguine leaned back once again and looked absently around her space. “...Is that what this visit is about, how I’m using your staff?”

“Mera, my sweet Champion, you can use my staff however you’d like,” he winked, “so no, that isn’t what this is about.”

“So then what-”

“I think you should have a drink,” he interrupted her, gesturing with the bottle in his hand, “before we get into the details, don’t you?”

So he wanted to play, that was it. She rolled her eyes, feeling annoyed. “What, was one drunken party around Skyrim not enough for you? You want to-”

“Drink, Mera.” His voice grew dark, holding a tint of seriousness that wasn’t there before. Sanguine sounded sober. It scared her.

Mera straightened, squaring her shoulders and firing a heavy glare in his direction as she deliberately brought the cup to her lips.

“Finish it,” he commanded, so she did. The brandy burned like a smooth fire as it slid down her throat. Someone could become addicted to this kind of stuff, if they weren’t careful.

And just like that, his expression lightened again, an easy smile spreading on his lips as he took a drink directly from the bottle before gesturing for her to give him the tankard. She held it out to him with an impatient huff and he filled her cup. “Good, good. This conversation would be very difficult if only one of us was drunk.”

“Conversation?” She started. Already, she felt tension seeping from her shoulders as her muscles relaxed. Unthinkingly, she took another small sip of the brandy. She didn’t even notice how wicked his smile was when she did.

“Yes, well, hm… Perhaps you should sit down for this,” Watching her expectantly, Sanguine waited until she slowly sank down onto the edge of her bed. Flashing her a wide smile that was all teeth, he grabbed a nearby chair and spun it, sitting backwards and straddling it with his arms resting over the backrest. He looked silly doing that, being as tall as he was, decked out in full daedric armor. Mera nearly laughed at the sight of him.

Taking another small sip, she rolled her eyes. “So what is it, Sanguine? You’ve got me drinking, and sitting. What’s this conversation?”

“Before I begin I want you to remember that I didn’t have to come here and tell you this. I could have just left you in the dark. But I’m a nice guy, right? Your good pal Sanguine. So I’ll tell you.”

Her brow furrowed as he spoke. Sanguine looked comfortable, as relaxed as ever, but there was something in his tone that had discomfort blossoming in her stomach. “...Okay. I’ll remember that.”  

“Good, good. Now, you caused quite the scene in Oblivion recently,”

“What?”

“Oh yes, when you nearly keeled over on top of that frozen rock there was an absolute riot! It was complete madness. Sheogorath was thrilled,” he shook his head, laughing quietly to himself.

“I don’t understand,” Mera frowned, mind racing and Sanguine sighed. “Why would I-”

“Because somebody hasn’t been very faithful,” Sanguine leveled what looked like a pout her way. “I mean how many Daedric Princes have you let claim your soul? Ten? Twelve? Mera I thought what we had was special!” He languished dramatically before shaking his head. “I’m kidding, of course. I never specified that we were exclusive. Hardly your fault.”

Mera’s head spun as she listened to him joke. Was he kidding? Personally, Mera was deeply confused as to what would happen to her soul once she died, but she didn’t think the afterlife wouldn’t know what to do with her either. “Sanguine,” she said, voice distant in her own ears as she tried to settle herself into it. “What happened?”

“A better question would be what didn’t happen,” Sanguine rolled his eyes. “It was like all, well, Oblivion broke loose. Everyone wants a piece of the Dragonborn when you die, sweetheart, and the Princes that you haven’t struck deals with or have ignored, well… they’re not to pleased either. Some have already forfeited any claim they have because others’ claims are stronger. It’s messy, legal business really. Who owns whose soul. I haven’t seen chaos quite like this since the days of the Oblivion Crisis.”

Mera held up one finger, asking Sanguine silently to pause. He did so with an amused look on his face, watching as she tilted her tankard all the way back and downed whatever was left in her cup. She handed it to him wordlessly, and he filled her up once again.

“Sip that one slowly,” he said, “I need you to remember the warning I’m about to give you.”

“Warning?” she asked, voice strained with the exhaustion she could feel seeping into her bones.

“Hircine wants you. Badly. He practically declared war on Nocturnal - when did you become a werewolf? I know you weren’t one the last time we-”

“Sanguine, please. War on Nocturnal?” She pushed him back on track.

“Right, right. The loon is obsessed with adding a dragon soul to his hunting grounds. He thinks it’ll give him glory, whatever that means,” Sanguine shook his head, taking a long drink from his seemingly bottomless bottle of brandy. For all she knew, maybe it was. “He claims he had you first, bound in blood. But Nocturnal seems very confident that your soul will go to her dark and gloomy relm when you finally kick it,”

“Does this affect me as a Nightingale? If they go to war…”

Sanguine rolled his eyes. “No, that’s not why I’m telling you. By the way, I can’t believe you let Nocturnal rope you into that title. You let the others push you around too much, my sweet. I was hardly that bad of a bully now was I?”

She blinked and he was next to her, sitting on the bed. When had he sat beside her? Mera didn’t even see him get up… and his armor was gone, in its place a robe, much like the one he'd worn as Sam. She felt impossibly warm, and her head swum at the sudden closeness. She felt one of his hands wrap around behind her, coming to rest on her hip as he leaned in, speaking close into her ear, like he had a secret.

She could feel the heat pouring off of him when he did.

“If you ask me, I think Hircine might try to cash in a early on his ownership of you,” She didn’t look his way, instead staring straight down into her cup, but she could feel him lick his lips before continuing. “If he can’t have you in his Hunting Grounds to chase after for eternity, then he might just take the opportunity when he gets the chance. I’ve heard the wilds of Skyrim are ripe with game. Maybe he’ll take a trip,” Sanguine’s other hand came to rest on her thigh as his whole body turned towards hers. “If you catch my drift.”

Shit.  “You think he'll come after me?” Her voice was quiet and she turned to look at him. Their faces were so close. Too close. But she didn't lean away. She bore right into his eyes, searching desperately for some sign of the truth.

“I highly suspect he will. And if he does you'll need a lot more than my Rose to defend you,” he spoke lowly, eyes moving around her face.

Gods she was dunk. One of his hands wrapped around hers, the one holding her tankard, and he brought it up to her lips. “Drink.”

She did.

“Good girl,” he purred, moving his hand from hers up to her hair, brushing it out of her face. Each touch of his skin against hers had her shuddering. And Sanguine seemed to love touching her. “I have a solution to propose.”

“What is it?” She asked, letting him pull her along. Everything was so fuzzy, but thankfully not nearly as fuzzy as the last time she'd drank from Sanguine’s cup.

“You need to cure yourself,” his fingers trailed along the side of her face, bringing heat with them.

“That would work?”

He shrugged lazily, “Maybe, maybe not.” His words were like a breath against her skin. “But it would weaken his claim and strengthen Nocturnal’s. The loincloth clad idiot might think twice.”

In the haze of her mind she thought hard, trying to focus on his suggestion. She’d wanted to cure herself for some time now. She’d been putting it off, Divines only knew why. This had to be a sign, a sign that it was time.

She nodded, breathless as he traced his thumb over her cheek. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Good, good,” his voice was a murmur as he spoke, still touching her skin.

Tentatively she took another sip, finishing her drink with a frown. She blinked, and Sanguine took the cup away. The brandy was gone. “Sanguine?”

“Hmm?” he leaned further in, lips nearly brushing against the side of her face. “What is it, my sweet?”

Mera shuddered. “What do you think?”

“About?”

“Who will claim me. When I die. Where I’ll go.”

Mera was on her back, blinking in confusion as she tried to figure out when she had gotten there, but suddenly her whole vision was filled, filled with Sanguine as he hovered over her. Close, so close, and his head tilted much like a dog looking at toy. One of his knees pressed between her legs, and he leaned in, all the way, until his face was buried in her neck, lips ghosting over her ear.

“Make no mistake, my Champion,” his voice was a purr, possessive and dark, “I claimed you first, therefore you are mine.” The hand that wasn’t supporting him slid down her body, over her clothes until it came to rest at the bottom of her shirt. She hadn’t worn armor, not when she was only going over building plans, and so the only thing keeping them apart was the thin layer of fabric that protected her skin. “Just look at you,” Sanguine continued, hand playing with the hem, fingers brushing against her waistline as she gasped. His skin was so hot, impossibly hot, and the heat of it brought back flashes of memory, feelings from that night where she met Sam, the Breton, the mage who swept her off her feet and brought her all across Skyrim for the time of her life. His nose pressed against her jaw line. “You are ripe with the things I stand for. Lust, gluttony, greed… and you are so _greedy_.”

His hand pulled back and she felt small things fall around her head, gently bouncing against the bed as he dropped them there. Mera turned her head, trying to see what it was. Gems. A mess of them. He pushed himself up, hovering over her as the hand that wasn’t supporting him grasped one of the jewels and held it up, over her face and in the light.

A diamond, flawless. She felt a deep need to hold it, possess it, display it and hoard it rush over her. She was so distracted she didn't notice him moving until his hips were wedged between her thighs.

She blinked slowly, mouth parted as she looked at it. “Sweet mortal, you belong to sin,” he pressed his hips to hers, “to lust,” he leaned, dropping the diamond back to the bed as he went back towards her neck, “and to greed.”

Mera stiffened as his lips touched her skin, parting so that his hot tongue could slide against her neck.  His horns scratched against her skin. “You can barely deny your base desires. Sound like you, darling Dragonborn?”

She breathed heavily, eyes fluttering closed. He was wrong. She could deny them, like she had denied leading the Companions. Paarthurnax had taught her that. But she didn't deny the Guild, or the wealth and power it brought her. Arms like lead, she reached up and grabbed at Sanguine's shoulders. Push him away. She needed to push him away. But she didn’t. Sanguine pulled his head back, adjusting so he could look down at her with a wicked smile. He looked all too pleased as he pushed his hips forward again with near bruising strength. Swallowing thickly, she parted her lips, eyes rolling back as she tried to think of what it was she wanted to say. “Is,” she stuttered, words slurring, “Is that why you’re here? To have me cure myself, make Hircine lose his claim so I can spend forever in the Misty Grove?”

Her head spun as, without warning, she was lifted and pulled close, up and into the lap of a daedra. She felt so small compared to Sanguine, weak. He had his huge hands on the back of her hips, hoisting her up as her legs wrapped around his waist to keep herself steady. The alcohol racing through her veins made her head heavy and it lulled. He used his face to nudge her head back, pressing his lips to her throat again. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” His voice was low against her skin, vibrating in a way that had her shuddering. His lips moved up, hissing in her ear. “Do you remember that night, Champion? All the fun we had?” He used his grip on her hips to move her, press her down against him and roll. She let out a harsh gasp and a whine in response.

Then, Sanguine sighed, and pulled back enough so he could look at her face to face. Mera had to blink to see him clearly, clear the fog from her vision. “But no. As much as I would love to play with you for the rest of eternity, I don’t think it’s very likely.”

One of his hands left her hips and went to her hair. He ran his fingers through her long locks with a surprising gentleness, supporting her head as it threatened to fall to the side.

“Then what? Where will I go?” She hated how vulnerable she sounded, and in the back of her mind she screamed. She’d let him take control of her, get her drunk and pliable in a way that scared her. No, Mera didn’t trust Sanguine, but she didn’t trust herself around him, either.

She was surprised when she felt his hand cup her face, and his thumb wiped just under her eye, on her cheek bone, catching a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. “Truly, I don’t know. None of us do, otherwise we wouldn’t be fighting.” He pulled his hand off her face and to his, placing his thumb at his lips as he tasted her fear and vulnerability on his tongue. “Mm. But I do have my own theory. As unpopular as it may be.”

She leaned back, feeling heavy as she did so, but she did trust him enough not to let her go. Not while he was talking to her. Funny how comfortable she was in his lap. As if she’d been there before. “What is it?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“Well, my sweet,” he leaned back in, pulling her close so he could speak into her ear once again. “I’ve never heard of a dragon being sent to Oblivion in death. Not one that didn't choose to go there, anyway.”

It took longer than it should have for his words to settle in her mind. Especially with his teeth teasing at her skin, the hand on the back of her head holding her close to him. Damn him, damn Sanguine for not allowing her a moment to think. And how was she supposed to think when he shifted his hips up between hers like that. Who was moaning? Was that her? She caught his eye and he still had that wicked look. He was enjoying this, enjoying playing with her and watching her struggle.

“If… then why are you…?” she said, words spinning through her head. “Why claim me as champion?”

Sanguine chuckled, leaning back to look at her with a smirk and raised brows. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. When we mess with you, the other Lords I mean, the fools up in Aetherius, the so called ‘Divines’, they absolutely _lose_ it.”

He laughed at the expression on her face. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Dearest Daddy Akatosh takes a shit every time we lowly daedra touch any of his children. And a hedonistic Daedric Prince playing with his darling Dragonborn, last of her kind? I can practically feel his rage. I haven't felt this much rage radiating from Aetherius since Mora put his slimy tentacles all over-”

Mera barely could hear him over her mounting fright. Children? Akatosh enraged? She felt fear, panicked and irrational rise up in her. Sanguine was confusing her, but Mera knew that nothing good could come from upsetting a Divine. She pushed at him, trying to scramble away but Sanguine only laughed and gripped her close, lifting her further up onto his lap.

“Easy, easy. The 'God of Time’,” Sanguine said that as if it was a joke, “has no power here. And it's me he's mad at, not you. The Aedra, they're weak. They have virtually no power on mundus. Not like me, oh no. I’m nothing but power here sweetheart.”

Mera shook her head, opening her lips to protest only to find the metallic lip of a tankard suddenly being pressed to her mouth again. She drank without thinking.

“So, as for why I do this, aside from you just being so _fun_ to play with, is that I love pranks. And messing with you while the Divines simmer in a plane where they can't touch me? Darling that's the best prank of all.” Sanguine laughed and looked at her with a grin that oozed malicious intent.

She felt heavy, too damn heavy as she leaned against him, breathing hard as she tried to focus on the here and the now. With her eyes closed, the room spun around her and she whined.

“Tsk tsk,” Sanguine scolded in a way that was gentle. “I leave you alone for a few months and suddenly you can't hold your liquor?”

He gripped her face in both of her hands and it burned, but not painfully. Like water that was just above a comfortable temperature to soak in. “Look at me, Mera,”

She did, raising her eyes sluggishly to meet his dark ones. He looked so serious and it frightened her.

“Good girl. Now, repeat to me. What did I say about Hircine?” He held strict eye contact, but his hands moved again. One went to stroke back through her hair, the other to her hip.  

“He…” she struggled as he moved her hips down onto him. “He's going to try and hunt me.”

“Good, that's right. And what did I tell you to do?”

“You… you told me to cure myself.” Mera felt sick, limp, and a surprised whine escaped her as she was suddenly on her back again, Sanguine pressed firmly in between her legs.

“And are you going to do what Sanguine tells you?”

He rolled his hips down and she whimpered, nodding.

“Say it.” He growled right into her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped as he bit at her.

“Yes what? Who am I to you, sweet Champion?”

“Yes, Lord Sanguine,” his name was like fire on her tongue, like the word of a shout as she breathed it into the air. She could feel him grin against her skin.

“I love to hear you say my name,” he purred his words before trailing his tongue over her flesh. And then his lips were on hers in a rough, invasive kiss and one strong hand was pinning her arms above her head so there was nothing she could do to fight it.

He tasted like wine, or mead, or brandy or ale or fire. She wanted to drink him in forever as his tongue pressed far, deep into her mouth, tasing her right back. Her sickness was gone, in it's place a deep need. Mera closed her eyes and she let herself burn.

* * *

 

It was dark when she woke, her eyes snapping open, heart skipping as she tried to remember where she was, and when she had fallen asleep.

She ached everywhere, but it centered around her head. A full body hangover taking over her every system and she groaned out her misery. Drunk, she had been so very drunk.

Drunk at Lakeview manor with Sanguine in her bed. He'd kissed her, she remembered that much, and she scrambled on the bed, pulling herself in as she looked around for any sign that the Prince was still there.

She was still in her clothes.

Mera closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. The longer she was awake, the more she remembered of their encounter.

Stupid, idiotic. She'd drank what he had offered her like a naive little fool.

But he hadn't come to play, not really. He'd warned her.

Hircine. Fuck.

Mera wrapped her arms around herself, feeling so much colder than she had before. What was she going to do?

Her eyes fell to the bed, and she was tempted to just crawl back under the covers and let fate take her where it may.

But then she spotted it. Flawless, lying on the side of her bed, miraculously undisturbed by her rousing fit.

A diamond and a rose.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay look I fucking love Sanguine don't judge me. 
> 
> But this has been something that's been on my mind for a while. Why all the Princes would want the same person for their Champion. Who wouldn't want the Dragonborn in their realm if they could have her? 
> 
> PLEASE review I am desperate for feedback thx


	2. His Gift, Her Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves not Swearwolves

Mera’s hands trembled as she dressed herself, buckling her dragonscale armor with fumbling fingers. She cursed under her breath, closing her eyes and exhaling shakily as her fingers slipped and she had to catch the strap again. “Fuck,” she hissed, counting in her head to try and calm herself.

But how could she possibly be calm in a time like this? She thought of Kodlak, and all the Harbingers before hiding from Hircine around the fire, and she shuddered. Would that be her fate? She needed to get to the tomb of Ysgramor to heal herself, to fight her wolf spirit to be cured, but she was in Falkreath hold now, and the tomb was all the way up in the ice fields beyond Winterhold. At any moment, Sanguine’s prediction could come true, and she had to get there before he found her.

“Fuck,” She said again, squeezing her eyes closed as tightly as she could.

“What’s wrong, my thane?” Rayya’s voice had her jumping out of her skin and she cursed again, whipping around to face her. “I’m sorry my thane! I did not mean to startle you.”

Mera grit her teeth, shaking her head. “It’s fine,” she said while she continued to dress with shaking hands. “When did you get back?”

“Early this morning, my thane. You were still asleep when I arrived so I didn’t think to tell you.”

“Good, good,” Mera felt better knowing Rayya was back at the manor. “I have something I need you to do.”

She struggled with the clasps behind her back and watched as the Redguard frowned. “Would you like some help?” her housecarl offered and Mera was about to say no before she bit her tongue. After a moment she nodded. Rayya stepped behind her, and she felt her deft fingers start buckling her in and adjusting her armor.

Mera’s nerves were so fried she couldn’t even dress herself. Perfect.

“What was it that you needed me to do?” Rayya asked as she finished the last of the clasps and Mera turned to face her again.

“I… I have to leave sooner than I expected.” She watched Rayya’s eyes go to the supplies she had already gathered. Her gear bag and a small sack of food supplies sat on the table.

“Back to Riften?” Rayya asked.

“No. I need to go to Whiterun. And then… the College of Winterhold. Something has come up.” She hated withholding information from her housecarl. Rayya was nothing if not loyal, but she wanted her safe. “I have a letter that needs to reach a friend of mine in Riften. He’ll be expecting me in about a weeks time, and if I’m not there he’ll be confused.” Mera headed to her nightstand, where she’d placed the letter when she’d finished writing it in a hurry after waking. She had to warn Brynjolf and Karliah, in case whatever Daedric threat extended to the Nightingales. If Hircine went after Nocturnal, he could easily go after her followers, first. She handed the letter to Rayya with one hand, and placed her other on the housecarl’s shoulder, leveling a look at her. “Rayya, this needs to get to Riften as soon as possible. Its… life or death, okay?”

“My thane… are you alright?” Rayya asked again, concern lacing her features.

Mera looked down, too ashamed to meet her eyes. “No. I’m not. But I will be. This needs to get to Brynjolf, understand me?” She met her eyes again, and Rayya nodded.

“I’ll deliver it myself.”

Mera frowned. A delivery right that could send Rayya to the Flagon. She hated the idea of sending her housecarl there and making her see that the thane she served was less than honest, but this was necessary. “Alright. If you can’t find Brynjolf, talk to a man named Maul. Tell him I sent you. He’ll tell you where to go.”

Rayya nodded solemnly. “You can count on me, thane.”

“I trust you.” Mera squeezed Rayya’s shoulder before letting go. “Go as soon as you can, and don’t linger in Riften. I… I don’t recommend coming back here, not until I say it’s safe. It’s up to you, of course but someth-- someone might be looking for me here, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I understand. I’ll leave immediately.” Rayya turned, moving throughout the manor and gathering herself.

Mera grabbed her bag, the one that was enchanted, and clasped it firmly to her body. She’d it off of a mage not long after waking up in Skyrim. Enchanted packs were very common in Skyrim amongst adventurers. They could hold more than the eye would believe, and it made traveling much easier. Her bag was on the heavy side, but she didn’t know exactly what she would need should Hircine rear his ugly head. Turning, she caught sight of her housecarl again and she frowned. “Rayya…” She caught the other woman’s attention and sighed. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will, Mera.” Rayya smiled her way, before nodding respectfully. “As long as you are.”

“I’ll certainly try to be,” Mera grabbed her small sack of food and turned to the door. She bit her lip before taking a slow breath. If she rode hard, she’d get to Riverwood by the end of the day. From there, she could figure out what to do. Without a last look behind her, Mera stepped out of the door and back into Skyrim.

 

Mera pushed her horse to exhaustion, riding straight through to Riverwood without once pausing for a break. By the time she reached the small town it was dark, and both moons hung high in the evening sky. But she wasn't ready to stop.

The horse would go no further, so she left it, running through the town, down the road, and into the forest across the bridge. Already she was out of breath, shaking her head as she braced herself on a tree. She had to be faster but how?

The moon gave her the answer.

Mera stripped, her pale marred skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she packed her things away into her gear bag. Pulling out a rope, she tied her pouch loosely around her waist, leaving plenty of room as she stood tall. It’d been so long since she last responded to the call of the blood. She wouldn’t even ventrue to do it now, if time wasn’t of the essence. She needed to get to Whiterun as quickly as possible, to see the Companions and warn them of Hircine’s hunt against her. Perhaps Vilkas and Farkas would even join her in her quest and cure themselves, too.

She felt her mind start to numb and her senses sharpen with the first wave of the change. Bones cracked, shrunk and grew beneath her skin as her spine arched in a way that was unnatural. Her fingers stretched, coming to fine clawed points that could shred flesh as easily as any knife. Thick, dark fur sprouted, growing in harsh patches across her skin before covering the whole of her body as she grew, wrapped up in the spell of the curse of lycanthropy. In mere moments, the transformation was complete. On her hind legs, she reared, facing the sky as her jaw fell open and a harsh, ethereal howl echoed up to the skies.

In the distance, it was echoed by several others.

 

* * *

 

Down beneath Whiterun, in the living quarters of Jorrvaskr, Vilkas opened his eyes. It was dark in his room, and through the fog in his brain he registered that it had to be late into the night. He’d had an impossibly long day - a group of bandits tried to raid the Battle-Born farm and the family had paid him and his brother to help the city guard in dispersing the threat quickly and effectively. After, he had helped Ria train her sword arm, worked with Athis on blocking, and gotten into a drinking contest with Torvar that had left them both ready to knock out the second it was time to hit the sack.

Yet he was awake.

Vilkas closed his eyes, trying fruitlessly to will himself back into sleep’s embrace to no avail. His wolf was restless, and he could practically feel the beast pacing inside of him.

There would be no more sleep tonight.

With a groan, he got to his feet, stretching and cracking his neck before going to open his door.

He found Farkas standing there, fist raised to knock.

“...You too?” Vilkas asked, and Farkas nodded.

“I’ve been up and I heard you moving around. Figured you’d be up too.”

“Mhm.” Vilkas closed his eyes and nodded. He was too tired for this, and he’d give anything to be able to crawl back into bed and fall back asleep, but when he saw Aela’s door open and the she-wolf step out, he knew there was no way that was going to happen.

If he thought he felt restless, Aela looked absolutely wild. Her eyes were wide, darting around in the dark and every muscle in her body seemed tense and ready to pounce. He felt uneasy looking at her, and without a word he nodded his head towards the hall before turning and heading to the door, hoping they would both follow him upstairs.

They did.

He lead the two of them outside, holding the door open to the rear side of Jorrvaskr. Aela stalked through it restlessly, and took the new lead of the group, continuing towards the Underforge.

Vilkas trailed behind her and his brother, eyes darting from side to side, looking for some sort of threat. There was none.

Aela paused with her hand on the door, splayed flat against ancient stone. He opened his mouth, intending to speak when they heard it.

In the distance a howl, unearthly and quiet like a whisper on the wind, floated through the air of Whiterun, calling to them.

Vilkas knew that howl anywhere. He could hear Aela’s breath hitch, and a quiet growl escape from low in Farkas’ chest. They had to heed the call.

 

Three beasts barreled out of the Underforge and into the planes of Whiterun Hold, howling at the moon.

 

* * *

 

With each large bound forward Mera’s claws dug deep into the earth, and she used her grip to lunge across the plains of Whiterun with incredible force. Each stride had her grunting like the beast she was, and when the city came into view over the hills she stood on her hind legs and roared her excitement. Falling back onto all fours, she continued her sprint.

The beast blood fogged the mind, and while her purpose nagged at her, pulling her in the direction of Whiterun, towards the pathway under the Underforge, she struggled to keep focus. She could smell the world. Deer, saber, people, _flesh_. It tempted her like nothing else and she came to a halt all too far from her goal. She shook her shaggy head, trying to force herself to stay on task, but what was her task? It was hard to remember while lacking the rationality of a human mind. When indulging in the beast, even her dragon’s soul was quieted.

Then she heard a laugh.

Mera turned, head low and jowls pulled back to expose her teeth, finding herself face to face with the largest man she’d ever seen.

If she could even call him a man. His flesh was like nothing she recognized in men or mer, looking more like the hide of an animal than human skin. He stood tall, impossibly tall, clad in nothing but a loincloth and where the face of a man should be there was the skull of an elk. On either side of him were wolves, larger than any she’d ever seen and nearly as big as Mera was in her beast form.

Her tail wanted to retreat between her legs as every instinct in her body told her to bow, to submit to an alpha, her master.

Hircine.

The Prince laughed again, the sound hearty as the hand that didn’t rest on his spear went to his hip. “Even as you race to forsake my gift, you find yourself reverting to your beast form.”

Still low to the ground a growl vibrated out of her chest.

“Silence, Dragonborn!” He waved a hand, and a terrible consuming fear washed over her, snuffing the growl in her throat. “You’ve tried to take advantage of the gift I have bestowed on men and mer by avoiding the price you must pay to keep it. Eternity in my Hunting Grounds is what you must pay, yet you’ve made deals with others to keep yourself free of it.”

Hircine banged the blunt end of his spear into the ground, and his wolves snarled and watched Mera with yellow eyes. Every hair on her body stood up, her shoulders held tense. But she couldn’t move, not with the Lord of the Hunt bearing down on her, keeping her still and obedience through his control of his gift, her curse.

“You may avoid me in death, Dragonborn, but you will not evade the hunt. I have come for you, and I will find glory when my spear pierces through your heart.”

Her deepest, most base instincts told her to run, to flee for Whiterun. This was not a fight she could win, not now, not here, not with Hircine towering over her and his dogs at his heel.

Mera was going to die.

“I can sense your fear. Breathe easy, Dragonborn, knowing I would find little satisfaction in killing you now, not without giving you a sporting chance.”

He looked down at her and he could see his eyes, glowing and terrible, through the skull of the elk that concealed his expression. She felt petrified beneath his gaze.

He forced his spear into the ground again. “Go! Run now, take full advantage of this I’ve gifted to you, for you have little time left.”

He turned his head, away from her, and the second she was free of the burning sensation of his eyes fixed on her, she turned tail and ran, ran as fast as she could.

 

* * *

 

Left standing on the small hill, Hircine watched as the Champion, the Dragonborn fled to the city. At his heels, his beasts growled in discontent, craving blood and victory like their master. Turning his head in disinterest, he pointed towards the retreating figure of the werewolf as she ran over the rolling hills. “Go, strike fear into her heart. Let her know your strength but do not kill her,” he commanded, and with twin howls, they tore off after her.

 

* * *

 

Mera’s lungs burned with the effort she was expending. She hadn’t slept, she hadn’t eaten, and now she was running like her life depended on it. There was a buzzing in the back of her mind, a nagging sensation of exhaustion as her body tried to will her to stop and to be human again.

How many hours had she been a wolf?

Behind her, she heard howling, loud and insistant, and despite her better judgement she looked back to face it.

Hircine’s hounds were trailing not far behind her, and moving faster than she thought she ever could.

Mera took off again, forcing the need to revert back to the form of man into the back of her mind as she forced her legs to push her further, move her faster. She wasn’t far from the Underforge pathway, from her home, her pack, her sanctuary. If she could just get there then maybe she’d be safe.

Maybe.

She could hear them grunting behind her, hot on her tail and she knew then she wouldn’t make it. She could either let them capture her from behind, or turn and try and face them, and this was not how she wanted to die.

She skid in the dirt as she turned heel and snarled in their direction.

Both beasts came to a halt, and they were closer to her now than they had been when Hircine spoke. She could see, or rather smell, blood on their jowls. She snarled, and stood on her hind legs in an attempt to intimidate them. Far, far in the distance she caught sight of Hircine, watching her, unmoving.

Was this all the head start he was going to give her?

One of the wolves lunged, knocking its full body weight into her and forcing her off her feet. She let herself go with the movement, rolling until she was on her back and she could use her legs to throw it off of her in the same movement as she brought one arm up to swipe at it, drawing blood. Quickly, she forced herself back up, coming face to face with the one who’d gone for her.

But where was the other?

Before she had the chance to turn and defend her flank, she felt it hit her, and felt the sharpness of its fangs as they dug into her shoulder. She roared her pain, standing upright and shaking until she threw it off, before she fell back onto all fours.

Her shoulder burned with the pain of the bite, and it weakened her left arm. She shifted her whole weight off of it, letting it lift off the ground to keep pressure off of that limb as she snarled harshly at the beasts that circled her.

This was it. Her injury was far from fatal, and she’d experienced much worse as a wolf in the past - beasts always healed much faster - but the wolves were not relenting.

One of the wolves, the one who’d she’d gotten a hit in on, jumped again, and all Mera could do was brace herself for impact.

A roar sounded from behind her, and before she could even turn to face it, the source hurtled over her, crashing into the wolf in mid air and taking it to the ground.

Vilkas.

She’d recognize her shield-brother, her packmate, anywhere, even in wolf form. He was huge, bigger than Mera was in this form, and it was only a moment before he was joined by his equally large brother as Farkas lept over her as well.

Vilkas stood on his hind legs, swiping at one of the wolves while Farkas stayed low and lunged. In the distance, Mera caught sight of Aela, leaner and smaller (by beast standards), circling from the outside before running in and tackling the second wolf.

Her pack had come.

Mera hung back, raising herself up onto her hind legs to take all the pressure off of her injured shoulder, and watched the scene play out before her. The scuffle between the wolves and her pack was short, and the two huge beasts managed to pry themselves away from the clutches of the Companions. They circled slowly, and looked ready to attack again before a voice, loud and clear despite the distance, called to them.

“Heal!”

The beasts turned to their master, who was still standing still on the hill, and they took off, running to him.

Farkas made a move to follow, but Mera barked harshly, pulling his attention away from the retreating figures and back to her.

She was exhausted.

Aela bound ahead of them, taking point and leading them towards the Underforge. Mera followed, but the going was slow, and Vilkas kept nudging her, forcing her to keep going as they rounded the cliff side and came face to face with the hidden passage, where Aela was waiting. Farkas leapt up first, and he circled in the entrance like an eager dog while Mera slowly pulled herself in. Behind her, Vilkas followed and she could hear Aela howl at the moon before climbing in to follow.

Mera couldn't even make it to the Underforge proper before she collapsed, fur retreating into her body. Her bones cracked once more, and soon she was left naked and exposed, panting on the floor.

The adrenaline from their fight kept the others as beasts, and she felt one of Vilkas’ huge clawed hands push her gently, and then the softer part of his nose come to nudge under her, forcing her off her hands and knees and onto her feet where she stumbled, legs shaking like a newborn deer.

Still, Mera managed to walk until she reached the circle room of the Underforge where she let herself collapse once again. Back to the stone, she curled into herself, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head there and she took in shallow breaths.

Her shoulder ached, but as a human she could feel that the damage was hardly serious, and nothing a healing potion and a spell from a priest wouldn't fix. Still, blood covered her pale skin, covering the flesh of her breast with the crimson color, as well as the area surrounding her shoulder. She felt a thick, coarse tongue run over her neck and shoulder and she turned her head just enough to peer out with one eye to catch Farkas, sitting on his haunches and whining.

“I’ll explain when you’re human,” she rasped and groaned as her throat ached. Gods she needed food. Food and water and sleep. But how could she sleep with Hircine hot on her tail?

Behind Farkas, Vilkas howled, and the sound sent a shiver through her. As a human, outside of her beast form, she felt the urge to flee nip at her heels. It was dull, and not nearly as strong as the urge felt by most men or mer at the sight of a wolf, and it was much easier for her to ignore it. She knew her pack, and knew they wouldn’t hurt her, even in a state of such vulnerability.

She could hear cracking, crunching and grunting as one or more of them turned. Mera had her head turned back into her knees, focusing on taking calming breaths as they did. It wasn’t until she heard a human sounding groan that she looked up again.

Farkas was naked in front of her, and Vilkas was right on his tail, shaking himself and leaning heavily on the wall as the last residual bit of wolf left him. She searched the room for Aela, finding her further back in her transformation as her jaw pulled back into her face in a way that looked painful to the outside eye, but she knew her sister loved every moment of each transformation. Aela relished in it.

They were silent while they each recovered from the disorienting feeling of the transformation, until it was just the four of them, human and naked in the Underforge.

A human hand touched her injured shoulder, fingers going around the wound to check the severity and looked to see Farkas crouching beside her, a confused and heavy frown on his face. She slowly lowered her legs until they were laid flat out in front of her and she was bared to the room. Mera felt no shame being naked and exposed in front of them. It was normal, after a run as wolves, for them to be naked while they recovered and slowly re equipped their armor.  Usually, there would be scant attempts at preserving modesty, turning the other way or closing eyes when someone was as fully exposed as she was now, but she didn’t care and neither did they.

“What in the Nine was that?” Vilkas asked from his place against the wall. She noticed he was sporting four thin marks across his chest. One of the wolves must have scratched at him. The wounds were trivial and barely passed the flesh, but she felt guilty.

“Hircine,” she said bluntly, and Aela’s head whipped to face her.

“What?” She and Vilkas said at the same time, but in very different tones. Aela sounded shocked, while Vilkas looked disbelieving, and his voice was flat when he continued. “Can you repeat that for me?”

“Hircine. It was Hircine. I… fuck,” she shivered, wrapping her arms under her breasts to hug herself. Her stomach growled loudly in discomfort and her head hung. She felt Farkas touch her gently again, hand resting on her good shoulder.

“You’re cold,” he said bluntly. “I heard you stomach. Have you eaten?”

Mera shook her head.

“Slept?”

Mera shook her head.

“Let’s get inside. Then there’ll be time for questions.” People liked to say Farkas was dumb, but he was quite perceptive and could say the right thing when he wanted to. Mera nodded weakly, and stood on shaking legs.

After a moment of hesitation, Vilkas turned his back to them and grabbed his armor. Aela strode confidently over to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She ushered her away from Farkas and helped her gather her gear and dress while she was clearly too tired to do the task on her own. Once they were all decent, they left the Underforge, and with Aela keeping a hand firmly on her back, they entered Jorrvaskr and went down beneath, into the living quarters and to the comfort of a bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow wow wow was this fun. I haven't had the chance to write them as wolves before and I knew this was a scene I wanted to include badly. 
> 
> Coming soon! More Sanguine and all the Daedra your little hearts could desire. 
> 
> Please keep commenting! I love to hear what you have to say always. It fuels the creative machine!


	3. Meet in the Myriad Realms

“Brynjolf, a word!” The redhead in question lifted his head from where he sat in the Flagon, pouring over papers to see Rune jogging over to him.

Mera had been insistent about investigating branching into Morrowind and Cyrodiil. Brynjolf’s job was to make sure they wouldn’t step on any toes by reaching out. During the decline of the Guild in Skyrim, their contact with Guilds in other parts of Tamriel had dwindled. The first step of branching out would be to reestablish contact with other factions within the Guild. Then they could see about taking jobs there.

“What is it?” he asked, brow furrowing as the young thief sat at the table across from him, leaning in like he had a secret.

“Someone topside has been looking for you,” Rune started.

“Is that so?” The thief asked with a hint of disinterest. There was usually someone looking for him, but normally if they were important - meaning Maven Black-Briar - they didn’t have a hard time finding him.

“Yeah. A warrior type,”

That brought a frown to his face. “Oh?”

Rune nodded vigorously. “I spotted her in the market. She’s dressed up like one of those Redguard warriors. The Ali… aliki?”

“Alik’r?”

“They’re the ones.” Rune nodded again with a snap of his fingers.

“Strange…” Brynjolf trailed off, folding the work he had in his hand up and putting it away.

“I thought so. That’s why I wanted to let you know. I mean, I doubt she’ll make it down here but… well, last thing we need is another Mjol out for your blood,” The younger man laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head before standing up. “I’m gonna head in. Be careful if you go up top, she sounded _really_ determined.”

Brynjolf nodded noncommittally at Rune as the younger man got up and walked towards the Cistern. This was odd, very odd, but he tried not to focus too much on it. Rune was right, the likely hood of a warrior wandering into the Flagon was slim, even Mjol never had the courage to do it, but it was still cause for concern that a warrior from outside the city even knew him by _name_. Fame was hardly good for thieves. Getting recognized could mean getting caught, and he frowned heavily at the concept.

Sliding into the seat that Rune had previously occupied, Delvin looked at Brynjolf with one brow quirked. “What was that about,”

Brynjolf shook his head. “Nothing, I hope.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing by the way you’re frowning,” Delvin said, and Brynjolf sighed.

“Someone’s been looking for me topside,”

“And I take it they’re not looking to commision a job?”

“Mhm,” Brynjolf hummed noncommittally, causing Delvin to frown.

Brynjolf found himself wishing that Mera was there. The lass was a wiz when it came to working topside. She’d sniff out the warrior and find her cause by laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before word would have even reached Brynjolf that there was a problem to begin with. He could always count on her for that.

The Guild Master had been gone for nearly a fortnight, the longest period of absence since she finished with her Dragonborn business and healed up, and she was due back any day now. He would be glad to see her, and he was eager to ask how her business in Falkreath was moving along, but that didn’t help him now.

It certainly didn’t help him when he heard a loud, attention grabbing voice startle him into looking towards the door of the Flagon.

“I said let me pass! I have important business here!” A strange woman called out and Brynjolf nearly audibly groaned out loud.

So much for deterring the warrior types. She fit the exact description of the woman Rune had warned him about, and catching Delvin’s frown ment the old man had guessed as to who she was as well.

“And I told you we don’t serve strangers here, so pack up and leave before things get messy.” Dirge, ever stern and serious practically barked the words.

“I won’t, not until I deliver my message,” she urged and Brynjolf crossed his brows.

A message, huh? “You don’t look like any courier I’ve ever seen,” Dirge scoffed, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but agree.

He had the sinking feeling that her message was going to be more of the “the Black-Briar’s send their regards” and less “come join me for tea” from whoever sent it.

“That’s because I’m not!” The woman almost laughed. “Please, allow me to explain. I’ve been sent by Thane Mera with a letter of great urgency.”

Hearing Mera's name come from the stranger's lips had Brynjolf physically freezing in his seat. He eyed Delvin, who suddenly looked muched less skeptical and much more interested in the stranger.

From somewhere behind him, he heard Vex mutter “Thane?” under her breath.

“Mera! Why didn't you just say so. Well come on in,” Delvin called her over with a wave of his hand. “Have a seat, tell us what your message is.”

The woman approached, but shook her head. “I haven't the time to sit. Mera told me to deliver a letter to a man named Brynjolf and then get out. I was told I could find him here.”

“Aye, well you've found him lass, give it here,” Brynjolf extended one hand. This whole situation had bad news written all over it. Mera has sent couriers before when she needed to get him a message, but sending a warrior to the Guild’s doorstep? Odd. Very odd.

The woman removed a folded note from her belt before looking him over, like she was trying to get to the truth of whether or not he was her mark. She narrowed her eyes, and Brynjolf wasn't ashamed to admit he felt mildly intimidated by her stance - and the two scimitars that clung to her waist. Finally, she decided to hand it to him, placing the note in his outstretched hand.

The Redguard took pause, as if debating saying something before she leaned in close over the table, lowering her voice so only he and Delvin could hear.

“Mera had me run here from Falkreath with that. Run. She said it was a matter of life and death, and that I had to get it to your hands specifically as quickly as possible.”

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes and started to speak. “What's happened? Why would she-”

The woman cut him off with a shake off her head. “She wouldn't tell me. My thane often keeps secrets but…” she sighed and closed her eyes. “I hope that letter explains something to you. I would suggest doing whatever it is she says.”

Without further ceremony, the warrior woman stood and turned, walking briskly out of the tavern without pausing to say a word.

Brynjolf looked at the note in his hand. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Life or death. That's what the woman said.

He didn't see her move, but he heard Vex sit down at the table across from him, her voice in a hiss. “What the hell was that about?”

Delvin leaned in, speaking lowly. “I think you'd better open that, Bryn.”

With a heavy sigh, Brynjolf nodded and unfolded the paper in his hands.

_Brynjolf_

_I fucked up. I told you once that Nocturnal was not the only Daedra who could claim me. Karliah had warned me that Nocturnal might not be happy, but I didn’t listen. It’s come back to bite me and I’m at a loss for what to do. You won’t see me around the Guild until I know it’s safe for me to return and that I’m not putting the others in danger. But that doesn’t mean that you or Karliah are out of the woods._

_I’ve been warned that Hircine has all but declared war on Nocturnal. I never told you this, and I probably should have, but I’m a werewolf, and I have been the entire time that you’ve known me. Hircine claims that Nocturnal defied him and took what was his and now I’m being hunted._

_I only hope they decide to leave the Nightingales out of this fight of theirs, but in case they don’t, I wanted you to know what’s coming._

_Tell Karliah. Tell her to try and talk to Nocturnal if she wants to. You can tell Delvin and Vex if they ask. Truthfully, I don't care who knows, not anymore. Whatever you do, just please be safe._

_Yours, Mera_

He could feel the blood drain from his face and a thickness constrict in his throat. Daedra. Werewolf. Nightingale. When did his life get so complicated.

Mera was a werewolf. Brynjolf was almost embarrassed by how little that surprised him.

“What's wrong, Brynjolf?” He heard Vex ask, her usually severe voice softening slightly. There was worry lacing her tone. It didn't sound good on her.

Wordlessly, he handed the note over to her and Delvin, and he didn't pay them attention as they read it, instead staring down with his eyes fixed on the woodwork of the table.

He was a thief, damn it. Not some hero of legend or warrior of Nocturnal. How could he think to get involved with a war between Daedric Princes?

“What in the name of Oblivion…” Delvin trailed off as Vex overpowered him.

“What the fuck?” She started loudly, only to lower her voice when Brynjolf shot her a glare. “Brynjolf, this can't be serious. Thane Mera? Hircine? It's gotta be a joke.” Her voice was as harsh as ever, but Brynjolf knew her better than that. She was nervous, maybe even afraid.

“I don't know, lass, she's brought it up in passing to me before. Besides this sounds… serious.” He admitted with a groan.

“What are you going to do?” Delvin asked.

“I've got to go see Karliah,” he said as he took the note from Delvin's hand, pocketing it. “This is something she needs to see.”

 

* * *

 

Mera woke up groggy, groaning to herself as she rolled over in bed. She hissed under her teeth as she put pressure on her shoulder, which was alarmingly painful. She opened her eyes, and found herself not at Lakeview Manor but in a much smaller, cozy room. The Harbinger’s quarters at Jorrvaskr.

The events from the night before came rushing back to her as she sat up violently in bed. Panicked and irrational she searched herself. She was out of her armor, in comfortable casual clothes and she frantically moved around the room, trying to put herself together. Despite the relative safeness of the Jorrvaskr living quarters, she felt horribly exposed.

In her haste she knocked into the shelf, knocking over several trinkets that adored it in the process. She cursed under her breath and ran a shaky hand through her hair. How long had she been asleep?

How much time did she waste?

The door to her room flung open with force as a wide eyed Vilkas came barging in.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes moving around the room to see the carnage of her clumsiness.

She nodded, almost unable to find the words. “Vilkas what time is it?” Mera spoke quickly, a slight tremor in her voice. “How long was I asleep?”

Vilkas looked her over with furrowed brows. “It's just past midday. You-”

“Fuck,” she clutched her head and sank onto the bed, sitting down when her legs couldn't support her.

“Mera. Mera!” Vilkas called, moving closer to her. “You're panicking. I need you to calm down.”

She shook her head, breath coming irregularly as she closed her eyes tightly.

“What's going on?” Aela, that was Aela.

“I’m don’t know, I came in and she was shaking like a leaf and-”

He stopped short and without looking up Mera could feel Aela approach her. She didn’t open her eyes until she felt pressure against her forehead and a hand on the back of her head, laced in her hair. Aela’s breath tickled her face as the older woman spoke. “Breathe, sister.”

Mera took a breath.

“Good, breathe with me,” Aela exhaled, and so did Mera. It was slow, and Mera kept her eyes closed tight the entire time. “You’re okay… you’re okay.”

In and out, in and out, she breathed with Aela until eventually her heart stopped racing and the world slowed down. Finally, she relaxed enough to open her eyes, finding Aela kneeling in front of her and holding their heads together. The older woman released her once she was sure that Mera had calmed.

Aela got to her feet and shifted so she stood beside Vilkas. She touched the man on his shoulder and spoke softly. “Go get Farkas?”

Vilkas hesitated in the door for a moment before leaving to get his brother.

With a crack in her voice, Mera spoke. “Aela, what happened? I don’t remember falling asleep. I…” she trailed off, feeling lost.

“You passed out the second you sat down. Farkas wanted to wake you to get you to eat but you were out cold. Figured it’d be better to let you rest.”

As if she’d summoned him, Farkas entered the room with Vilkas trailing behind him. The softer twin had bread, and he handed it to Mera. The second she saw it her stomach roared to life, reminding her of how empty it was. Eyes blown wide, she took it and immediately took a bite.

She felt like an animal.

“Mera…” Vilkas started as he dragged a chair into the room to sit in. Aela closed the door firmly behind him once he got into the room. “We need to know what happened last night.”

Mera nodded, exhaling through her nose and trying to calm herself enough to eat in slow bites. She wanted to inhale the bread and anything else edible within a mile of Jorrvaskr. Elder cheese, venison, bread, _flesh_. Mera closed her eyes and groaned. The wolf was still active in her, more active than it’s been since she first adjusted to lycanthropy, and it was hungry.

“Mera,” Vilkas said her name again, pulling her back into the conversation. “What did you mean when you said it was Hircine?”

The Dragonborn hung her head and let out a low, anguished groan. Fuck. _Fuck_ . “I fucked up,” she whined. “I fucked up _bad_.”

Farkas looked to his brother before slowly sitting on the floor. Aela joined him after a moment, sticking closer to her sister. “Tell us about it. We’re here for you,” Aela prompted. So, with nothing to hide, Mera did.

 

* * *

 

The Daedric Prince of Debauchery lounged languidly in his throne, tucked into one of the many pockets of the Myriad Realms, the one that held his personal palace. He had one leg lifted, resting on the arm and the other foot planted firmly on the ground, legs spread wide as he sipped lazily from his cup.

There was little Sanguine loved more than a good drink. He thought maybe the only thing that might top a smooth cup of ale would be a good lay. But, if he had to choose between fucking and drinking well….

The Prince wasn't sure which one would go first.

He frowned into his cup. He really could use some company. Playing with the Dragonborn, leaving his Champion flushed and wanting and dazed, it had been all good fun, but he hadn’t exactly gotten the _satisfaction_ he needed.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left her…

Or perhaps he should take his need for _companionship_ elsewhere.

He tilted his cup back to finish his drink, only to find it was already empty. He glowered at the bottom of the tankard, wondering how it was possible that the Lord of good times and endless liquor could somehow empty his cup.

Sanguine hated irony.

“Now now, Sanguine, pouting is rather unbecoming,”

Without glancing up from the bottom of his cup, and easy smile spread across Sanguine’s lips. He looked up, spreading his arms wide and tossing his tankard to the side without caring about where it landed. “Well, well, well! It’s not often I get a visit from you,” He said, adjusting himself in his seat to better face his visitor.

There, clinging to the shadows at the edge of the room was Nocturnal, looking lovely with a raven on her shoulder. As she moved closer to him, the shadows moved with her, keeping part of her face obscured.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Sanguine asked, snapping a bottle of wine into existence at his side.

“Is there enough for me?” His brows shot upwards at the sound of a new voice to his side, and he turned, finding Mephala leaning against a pillar. He was pleased to see she (and they were she today, he noted) maintained a more human, less spidery form, even if she decided to sport an extra set of arms. A a few extra eyes.

“A silly question,” yet another voice rang in, sounding more dreamlike, faded and harder to comprehend. Vaermina smiled at Sanguine, her expression smooth as silk at the sight of her old ally. “Of course Sanguine has enough.”

“We aren’t here to drink,” Azura appeared, standing tall and looking stirn, arms crossed over her chest.

Sanguine kept his easy smile, kept his shoulders relaxed as he looked at each of them, but internally he frowned. It was a rather odd grouping of Princes to show up at his door, especially all at the same time. Azura and Nocturnal he understood, the two were sisters, and when war was threatened between the Queen of Shadows and the Lord of the Hunt, Azura had been quick to make her position on the matter known.

Sanguine had allied himself with Vaermina ages ago, and while seeing her face around the Myriad Realms was a rarity, it was more expected. Mephala was much the same. He trusted the other Prince (as much as two Daedric Lords could truly trust each other), but he hardly expected to see they, he, today she, in his home.

And all four of the Lords appearing together could be nothing but a bad omen.

Still, he stood, uncorking the bottle of wine and taking a long drink for himself, keeping his grin on his face as he walked to the center of the room, continuing until he came to Mephala. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise! Here I am, just thinking of how absolutely _lovely_ some company would be, when some lovely company comes by way,” Extending one hand, he waited until the Webspinner gave him one of hers. He brought it to his lips and gave her knuckles a gentle kiss, watching as she rolled her many eyes. Straightening out, he continued. “So what brings you four to my many, merry realms? Looking for a party?”

“You’ve been medling, Sanguine.” Azura stated.

Ah, so right to the point.

“Medling? Me? Why, I’m afraid I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” he rolled his eyes, turning to face the Lord of Twilight.

He felt two hands on his shoulders, tracing over the back of his neck as Mephala stalked slowly behind him. “Don’t lie, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can hide from me.”

“Or me,” Nocturnal said, sounding more like a scolding mother than a Prince. “Not when it comes to my Nightingales.”

Sanguine pretended to think for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “Oh! Now I remember. You must be talking about the Dragonborn? Ah, medling - shmedling. Mera and I were just having a bit of fun.”

“Is that what you call fun?” Azura spoke harshly, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

“What, are you four angry with me for playing a little game with _my_ Champion?” He could feel the room simmer with his words. Each of them held some sort of claim over her soul, referring to the mortal as his could be dangerous. Sanguine always liked dangerous. “Besides, I thought you would have been pleased!” He announced loudly, turning back to face Nocturnal. “I warned her about Hircine! Warned her, without asking for _anything_ in return. Can you believe that? Just me being good guy Sanguine, yet everyone seems out for my blood.”

Even from the shadows, he could see her irritated huff.

“Why are we here ganging up on Uncle Sanguine, anyway?” He spread his arms, palms open. “Weren’t you ladies at each other’s throats like the rest of them when sweet Mera nearly croaked? All trying to stake your claim… Vaermina, darling, back me up.”

Vaermina crooned, practically gliding across the floor towards Sanguine. “As if you weren’t keen on asserting your claim, too.”

Had he been a mortal man, Sanguine might have pulled at his collar, or run his fingers through his hair from nerves. Vaermina had always been his one, true ally. He had no real enemies amongst the Princes, prefering to keep to his parties, but if Azura and Nocturnal had managed to turn both Mephala and Vaermina against him, he was in trouble. He doubted there was a place in any of his thousand pocket realms he could hide where the four of them couldn’t find him.

Nocturnal sighed, sounding frustrated. “I can’t say I don’t appreciate your… encouraging my Nightingale to cure herself of Hircine’s wretched influence,” His brow quirked. “But that is not what this is about,”

“Well, then cut to the chase,” Sanguine hated how annoyed he sounded, how much his own frustration cut through his air of disinterest. “Whatever’s got you four on the same side is enough to make a daedra nervous, don’t you think?” He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced.

“We have bigger problems than Hircine’s need to mount a dragon on his wall.” Nocturnal started.

“Oh?”

“Yes, but his hunt is only fueling the fire,” she continued.

Impatiently, Sanguine cleared his throat. “A little less cryptically, please.”

He felt hands on him again as Mephala got close, very close, purring her words as she moved silently around him. “I’ve heard whispers, Sanguine.”

“Whispers,” he repeated dully.

“Carried in the wind. My spiders bring me secrets. News from Apocrypha,”

That certainly caught his attention. “Apocrypha?” Absently, Sanguine took another sip from his bottle, eyes watching Mephala as she nodded.

Her voice was a hiss as she continued. “My brother has plans, big plans. Plans that mimic that of centuries before.”

Curious. “Oh? And you think that this will interest me?”

“It will.” Vaermina insisted. “Put the bottle down, Sanguine. We need to talk.”

Sanguine’s lips pressed together in a grim expression. If Hermaeus Mora was planning something large enough to bring so many Princes to his door, it had to be serious. He dropped the bottle, but the glass never hit the floor, rather it was swallowed by it, being transported back to wherever he manifested it from. He turned on his heel, and with deliberate steps he returned to his throne, where he sat without ceremony. Looking to the four Lords, standing side by side in his palace, he sighed heavily and leaned back, resting his head against his seat.

“Alright, ladies. Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had SO much fun writing the scene between the Princes. They remind me of greek gods, bickering like children and messing with mortal affairs. 
> 
> I'm happy you're all enjoying this story. I hope this keeps you interested!
> 
> Also, Mephala is gender fluid and uses every pronoun under the sun depending on their mood. #facts


	4. We're On Your Side

“Backtrack for a moment,” Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his swirling thoughts. “You’re saying Hircine wants to hunt you. Personally.”

Mera wouldn’t look him in the eye as she nodded. “Yes.”

“Because you spread yourself too thin.”

She nodded again. “He sees Nocturnal's claim on me as an affront to his power or… something. He really wants a dragon soul.” 

“Okay. So you’re promised to Hircine and Nocturnal. Who else?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Mera looked exhausted. Deep dark bags had formed under her eyes, standing out plainly against her pale skin. “Almost every Prince has propositioned me for something at some point. I… it’s hard to say no to them. But apparently Nocturnal and Hircine are the two biggest contenders.” 

It didn't sit well with him, the fact that she had played games with so many daedra and he didn't even know. He thought that Mera told them everything. Or most things, at least. When she had told them about her thieving, it felt like a promise of honesty. But daedra worship, this was huge. 

No, no worship. He shook his head slightly. Vilkas knew he was being too hard. Looking at Mera, he could tell she was scared, so scared. The last and only time he'd ever seen her this afraid was when she'd went to face Alduin. He couldn't blame her for that.

“And who even told you all this?” Vilkas didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he knew he did. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe Mera, but it was difficult. Most Nords were strangers to anything Daedric; leave that to the elves. Farkas shot him a look, clearly trying to communicate some emotion to him, but Vilkas could hardly pay enough attention to him to decipher what it was. 

Mera’s hesitation did nothing to settle him. 

“Mera, we need to know,” Aela pried, a bit more gently than Vilkas had. 

“Sanguine.” She answered simply. 

Sanguine. It only took a moment for him to remember which one that was. He didn't like the implication of it. “You’re telling me that the Daedric Prince of Debauchery showed up at your door and warned you about this out of the kindness of his heart. And you believed him?” Vilkas hated the way the words sounded as they left his lips. 

“I know how it sounds, Vilkas!” She snapped, baring her teeth in a way that was canine in nature. “Don’t you think I was shocked when I came home to a Daedric Lord sitting cozy in my bedroom? And don’t you think I was horribly confused when he didn’t ask me to do any task and that he instead wanted to talk with me? And don’t you think I was absolutely terrified when he told me that all of Oblivion wanted to go to war when I nearly died because - apparently -  _ everyone  _ wants a piece of the Last Damn Dragonborn so they can rub it in the face of the divines like I’m some sort of trophy?” 

Vilkas flinched back at her outburst. Her voice was cold with barely contained rage and frustration. He couldn’t blame her. Vilkas had always been the fiery one, and he understood what it was like to struggle to hold back. 

“And he didn’t do it out of the ‘kindness of his heart’,” she continued after a moment of silence. “I had to play a game to get him to give me his warning. So I did.”

“What game did he make you play?” Farkas cut in, voice softer, before Vilkas could put another foot in his mouth. 

Mera turned red, and Vilkas almost thought it was from anger before he noticed her avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. 

“It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter if I thought he was telling the truth. Hircine confirmed it last night.”

“Talos, you mean to tell me that was Hircine?” Aela asked, shocked with wide eyes. 

Mera nodded. “In the flesh,” she spoke bitterly. 

“But he let you live…” Vilkas pointed out, more so pondering out loud than trying to poke holes in her story. 

“Hircine is a sportsman. Killing me while I was exhausted and after teleporting to my exact location isn’t game enough for him.”

“So he gave you a head start.” Vilkas finished for her, and was confirmed by Mera’s nod. 

“I’m going to Ysgramor’s tomb.” She said after a moment. 

Aela lifted her head like a dog whose attention was grabbed by a knock at the door. “What?” 

“It’s the only way. Sanguine told me curing myself would weaken Hircine’s claim and strengthen Nocturnal’s. If he doesn’t have a fair claim and he interferes over those who  _ do _ , it’ll be his blood. Or, at least that’s what Sanguine thinks.” 

“And you trust him?” Vilkas asked, but the judgement was gone from his tone. He just needed to know, for sure, if they knew what they were doing. 

Mera paused for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t have much of a choice. Of all the Daedra, he’s hardly at the top of my ‘most likely to kill me for fun’ list. And in my interactions with him, he’s never really… hid his intentions.” There was another blush. Vilkas decided he didn’t want to know what caused it. 

“Alright,” he finally said. “What do you want us to do.” 

“Whether or not you come with me is your choice. I came to Whiterun to get the head of the witch. If you'd like to come cure yourselves with me I wouldn't mind the company,” she sighed. “But it'll be dangerous. I don't know if Hircine will target you while you're with me. I don't know how far he's willing to go.” 

Vilkas nodded thoughtfully. As a Companion, he'd seen his fair share of danger in life, but never anything so great as this. Dragons, he thought, we're bad enough. But daedra? Hircine himself? It was no laughing matter. 

“I'll go with you,” Farkas spoke before Vilkas could finish thinking. “You'll have me by your side, shield-sister.” 

Mera's smile was sad. “Thank you Farkas.” 

“And you'll have me.” Aela said, much to the surprise of Vilkas. “I won't cure myself, so don't get any funny ideas about that, but I won't let you face this alone.” 

Mera turned to face Vilkas, looking grim. “If you want to stay, I'll understand. Someone needs to stay and watch over Jorrvaskr, and I know this-” 

“Mera don't be stupid. I'm coming with you,” 

Her relief was tangible. “Thank you. All of you. We have no time to waste. If we're going to get to Winterhold within a week, we need to get moving.” 

Aela stood, stretching her body. “I'll go get ready. You go get the heads from Breezehome.” 

Mera nodded and got up onto shaky legs. Vilkas’ worry was consuming. How could they have any hope of defeating Hircine? Even if Mera, as Dragonborn had a chance, could he and Farkas and Aela even have a hope of giving her real aid? 

Farkas got up, saying he was going to get ready himself, leaving the room with Aela. Mera looked at the floor before shifting and moving towards the door. “I'll be back soon. I need to get my things, then we can go.” 

She was halfway through the doorway before Vilkas got up and grabbed her wrist, gently, to stop her. “Mera, wait.” 

She stopped, and it took her a long moment before she turned to face him. She looked pained. “Yeah?” 

“... We're with you. To the end.” 

There was no joy in her smile, but she smiled regardless. “Thank you, Vilkas,” she said softly before she turned and walked away.  away. 

 

* * *

 

Sanguine’s hand clenched tightly on the arm rests of his throne. His nails dug deep into the dark wood of it, creating gouges that showed his tension. He needed wine. Or ale. Or mead. And he cursed himself for allowing Vaermina to convince him to stop drinking. He was Sanguine! He  _ needed _ his cup in hand at all times, especially if he was going to continue with this conversation. 

Mephala had explained it to him briefly, she and her whispers. Apparently she had heard that Mora was very interested in the Dragonborn, and Sanguine wasn’t impressed with this supposed important, life changing information. This was what convinced four Lords to work together? And they expected that to sway him? 

“So let me get this straight,” he spoke after a moment, leaning forward in his seat. “The four of you came all the way to my realm to tell me that Hermaeus Mora is interested in the soul of our darling Dragonborn.” 

He took their silence as affirmation. 

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but this isn’t exactly news.  _ Everyone _ is bidding on her, including the four of you. If you’re here to recruit me, hoping I’ll throw my weight in with you to strengthen whos? Nocturnal’s claim? You’ve come to the wrong place. I thought I made my opinion on the matter very clear.” 

Nocturnal looked visibly annoyed. The raven on her shoulder cawed loudly, flapping it’s large inky wings. Sanguine watched as a single feather fell and floated to the floor. “Yes, Sanguine, we know where you stand. I know that you think because you named her Champion first, that she’s yours. And I know that you think that  _ none  _ of us will get the Dragonborn, because you think she’ll be claimed by Akatosh. But we aren’t here about my claim or yours. Or any of ours. This is bigger.” 

Sanguine resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was quite a bit of tension in the room; he could feel it with every breath. While he was more powerful in his own realm than any of them were, he didn’t want to cause a fight against all four of them. “Explain to me, then, how this is so big it’s managed to push your past your petty conflict.”

“Sanguine don’t be dense,” Azura steamed, “I’m sure you remember Miraak as well as the rest of us.” 

Now it was time for him to roll his eyes. “Of course I remember Miraak.” How could he forget. The First Dragonborn was as stubborn as the Last, but not nearly as fun to toy with. He had resisted Sanguine’s temptations, as well as nearly all of the Daedric Princes’. He’d be lying if he wasn’t jealous of Hermaeus at the time. The Divines were furious when Miraak had escaped death by hiding away in Apocrypha, and Hermaeus Mora was pleased to find himself with a powerful pet. “How is that cultic mortal relevant here? The writhing sack of tentacles didn't get Miraak through any sort of claim of Champion. The mortal fled to his realm, dragon tail tucked between his legs during the Dragon War. I’d hardly say that counts as-” 

“Silence yourself!” Azua shouted, and Sanguine shut his mouth, looking at her with raised brows. “Do not act so  _ foolish _ and listen!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but Mephala started before he could say anything to anger the Prince further. “Miraak has grown in ages past, and my brother fuels his power. But his pet dragon grows restless with a need to conquer,” she paused to make sure Sanguine was listening, and he nodded stiffly to encourage her to continue. “Miraak seeks to free himself from Apocrypha, and Hermaeus seeks to pacify him,” 

Sanguine let the words wash over him and circle his mind. So Mora was having trouble keeping his pet on leash. It made sense. From what he remembered, Miraak was rash and arrogant. “And he thinks adding another dragon to the mix will fix the situation?” Sanguine nearly laughed. He thought Hermaeus was supposed to be the Prince of Knowledge. It hardly seemed smart. 

“He’s offered asylum to the First, and he will to the Last. If Hircine continues to chase, he’ll offer to hide her, as he hid Miraak from the dragons,” Mephala continued and Sanguine nodded. 

“I’m following. That explains how you think he’ll actually get her but what does this-” he cut himself off as the pieces fell into place. “Oh.”

“Yes,  _ oh _ .” Azura scoffed. 

“You think he’ll stoke the fire and use his two dragons for…” 

Vaermina shook her head. “We don’t know what he’ll use them for. We’ve ignored that Hermaeus Mora has been keeping a pet that was strong enough to strike fear into the Dragon-God Alduin for the past few millennia. And now he wants another one? One that actually managed to kill the World Eater? It doesn’t matter what he wants with them, I don’t like it. We don’t like it,” 

Sanguine felt like he drank too much. His stomach hurt and his head pounded with the sudden influx of information. He understood, now, why they would come to his door. Mora was not ambitious and power hungry like Dagon or Molag Bal, but neither of them were stockpiling powerful man-gods and feeding them information that they could use to potentially take over Mundus. 

Or Oblivion. 

The Prince of Debauchery pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “What do we suggest we do? Curse him? I don’t think that’ll work again, not after Jyggalag. Besides, we needed  _ all  _ of us to do that, and I doubt we could get every damn Lord in the same room to agree to it.” Too much time had passed since the Metehic Era, when they were young, long before bitter rivalries could form. Back then, Jyggalag was a threat to them all. Things were different now. Sanguine doubted they could convince every single Prince of the threat. Hermaeus Mora just wasn’t the type to try and reign over the other Lords. 

But that didn’t mean the idea of a  _ most powerful Prince  _ sat well with Sanguine.

“No, you’re right about that. We couldn’t curse him. That won’t work a second time,” Azura brought her hands together, concealing them in her robe as she shook her head. 

Mephala spoke up, capturing his attention with her smooth voice once more. “Sanguine darling, we’re putting together a small, temporary alliance. Just in case-”

“Shit hits the fan. Right,” He finished for her, getting to his feet and walking slowly around the room. “Well, ladies I’m flattered, truly, but I’m not sure we’ll have to worry. Have you  _ met  _ sweet Mera?” A wiry smile pulled at his lips. “She’s hardly a saint, sure, but fighting alongside a megalomaniac ancient ex dragon priest and a ball of slime and eyes? It’s not really her M.O.”

“You’re right.” Nocturnal agreed, and Sanguine was shocked to hear the words leave her lips, but she shot a sharp look his way to prevent him from commenting. “I know my Nightingale as well as you know your Champion. I know morality hangs heavily on her, but I also know that she is incredibly  _ tempted _ .”

Sanguine laughed heartily, forgetting the grave tone of the situation for a moment. “Oh you don’t know how right you are,” he smiled wickedly, “My dear Champion may fight it, but she’s so tempted by dark cravings. Power, lust, greed…” he trailed off as Nocturnal nodded. 

“Precisely. And if Hermaeus manages to convince her to hide from Hircine in his realm, how long do you think she’ll hold out before the temptation to indulge in some of those darker cravings is too overpowering?” 

Not that he wanted to admit it, but Nocturnal had a point. If there was anything Sanguine knew it was temptation. Well, he knew alcohol, too, but temptation came right along with it. He knew when someone wanted to indulge, and part of the reason why he loved the little Dragonborn was that she was always so tempted to indulge. Both in her need for power and her need for wealth, as well as her craving for pleasures befitting a god. 

“So what’s your plan?” He asked, eyes narrowed in her direction. “You come to  _ my _ realm, asking for an alliance, and I’m inclined to listen, but what are you propositioning?” Sanguine stalked to his table, and with one swiping hand he grabbed a bottle of wine, which he uncorked with his teeth before taking a long drink. He’d indulged in their temperance for long enough. 

“There is no plan,” Vaermina said dryly, eyes darting to her companions. Sanguine quirked a brow at that. Was there already trouble with this alliance? Shaky as it was, it couldn’t handle a divide this early on. Perhaps he’d be better off turning his head.

“Stopping Hircine from his quest would stop the wheel from turning,” Mephala suggested, but Azura scoffed. 

“His hunt has already begun. Telling him about Hermaeus Mora’s intent would only push him further.”

Nocturnal nodded at her sister’s words. “He would see our warning as a challenge.” 

Mephala crossed her arms over her chest, all eyes narrowing at the siblings dismissal at her idea. Sanguine nearly cringed. 

“So then tell us your idea, Nocturnal,” Vaermina pressed, shifting her weight so her hip popped out to the side. 

“If Hircine catches her before she can rid herself of his wretched curse, or if Hircine refuses to quit even if she does, someone else must offer the Dragonborn asylum,” her eyes moved to each of the Lords in the room. 

“I sense an or coming on,” Sanguine rolled his eyes, bringing his lips to the bottle again. 

“Or we kill her before Hermaeus Mora has the chance to.”

Sanguine choked on the wine, sputtering slightly. “You’d kill your Nightingale?” 

He was surprised, especially by Azura’s silence in the matter. Nocturnal normally didn’t entertain followers, but her Nightingales were firmly under her protection. Her sister was also well known for treating her devotees exceedingly well. 

“It’s not ideal, no, but if that’s what it takes I’m willing to make the sacrifice.” Nocturnal’s voice was cold when she said it. 

The idea didn’t sit right with Sanguine, and it make his wine taste bitter as he took a fresh sip. “Gotta say,” he grumbled. “I’m not too big of a fan of Plan C.” 

“Sanguine~” Mephala was in his ear again, purring her words with a mock scolding tone. “You’re not going soft on me are you?” Her finger caught her chin, turning his face towards her so he could see her pout. “Do you actually care?” 

Sanguine smirked, and wrapped an arm around Mephala’s waist to pull her flush against him. He ignored Azura’s scoff as he tipped her back, leaning into her space. “Now Mephala, you know me. I don’t like it when someone breaks my toys,” 

Lifting his head he looked over her and made eye contact with Vaermina, who watched him with an amused smirk. He winked. In a smooth movement, he lifted Mephala back upright and released her from his hold. 

“And darling, sweet Mera is one of my favorite toys. Has been since day one.” He sighed then, dramatically, shaking his head.  “But, should it come to it, I’ll do what is necessary. But I’d much rather put my stock in our first two options. The idea of getting Mera back into my realms is appealing. All the fun we could have…” 

“ _ Your  _ realm?” Nocturnal scoffed. He looked at her with raised brows, and noticed even Vaermina had her lips pressed into a thin line on her face. 

“What makes you believe that you will be the one to offer her asylum?” The Nightmare Queen asked, leaning against a pillar in the room. 

Sanguine rolled his eyes. “Becaaaause,” he drew out the word, rocking forward on the balls of his feet before rolling back, “The Dragonborn has been here before. And I assumed my realms were much more appealing than you fours… well, three. Azura, sweetheart, I’ll confess there is something absolutely magnificent about your little corner of Oblivion, but it isn’t exactly fit for mortals. Neither is Mephala’s.” 

If Azura was flattered by the compliment, she did a good job hiding it. Nocturnal on the other hand was steaming. “Mera swore an  _ oath  _ to serve me in life and in death. Her being a Nightingale binds her to Evergloam, and she should come there by my right!” 

Sanguine rolled his eyes, speaking dryly. “Yes, and I fucked her senseless on my table, so what right does that give me?” 

He knew the kind of reaction to expect by admitting it, but he said it anyway. Nocturnal’s disgust was clear as she reared back, raven cawing loudly on her shoulder. There was something to be said about having sex with mortals. For a mortal of ‘fall’ so low as to fuck a Daedric Prince, usually the soul was theirs by without question in the end. Though, he’d admit that Mera was a special exception. “You-” Nocturnal started, but Sanguine cut her off. 

“Oh would you  _ relax _ !” His words held a dark edge. “Before you spout your nonsense of defiling, I would like you to recall who claimed her first, fully and in every way I could? And think before you insult me, Nocturnal, least you forget who’s plane you’re currently in.” With a small amount of effort on his part, the floor of his palace trembled with his voice. 

Each Lord was strongest in their own plane of Oblivion, which was considered the seat of their power. It was in his realms that Sanguine had full control. Though he normally prefered to let them form on his own, bending to the wills and whims of the creatures and people that resided there, he could easily bend it all to his will with a simple snap. It was too often that his fellow Lords forgot that Sanguine held true power. He prefered to stay out of their squabbles, and rarely associated with any of them outside of when it was necessary (parties with Sheogorath aside). 

He took a breath, and continued. “Politics and soul claims aside, whos realm do you think looks more appealing to a mortal? A realm of parties and indulgences or one of darkness and shadows?”

The silence was palpable as he let his words sit. Angirly, Nocturnal huffed. “Fine! Tempt her if you must, but know I have plenty to offer. I think you’ll be surprised by how hard of a choice it might be.” 

“Suit yourself,” Sanguine rolled his eyes as he brought his bottle back to his lips. He walked over to where Vaermina was resting against the pillar and joined her, offering her the bottle with a little shake. After a moment, her slender hand wrapped around it and she drank too. 

“Will you be warning anyone else of Hermaeus Mora’s plans?” He asked the room. Azura nodded, striding over to her sister. 

“I intend to warn Molag Bal. He would be a powerful ally should the worst happen.” 

Sanguine nodded as Vaermina continued. “I intend to speak with Namira, though I’m unsure as to whether or not she’ll listen. She’s still rather angry by the Dragonborn’s defiance of her and denial of her gift. I also plan to speak with Peryite.”

“If Molag and Peryite are involved, Boethiah won’t join our cause,” Mephala stated and Vaermina shook her head. 

“Two are stronger than one,” she countered. 

“Clavicus?” Sanguine asked, being met with expressions of distaste. “I know. Annoying little shit… still, if it comes down to it, I won’t write it off.”  

“I may attempt to contact Dagon,” Azura offered again. “I doubt he’ll take too kindly to Hermaeus’ attempt at power.” 

“I’d bet Sheogorath would be willing to help,” Sanguine said after a moment and Vaermina hissed. 

“Must you involve that mad man?” 

“Vaermina, darling, he’s really not so bad. Sheo and I have grand times in the Shivering Isles. And he gifted Mera with that staff of his.”

“But he doesn’t speak to  _ reason _ !” She argued and Sanguine shrugged. She was right, of course, but they needed numbers. “Fine! If you must.” 

“I think we’re done here,” Azura announced suddenly, “Stay sharp and do what you must.” With a wave of her arm in a circle around her, Azura vanished. 

Nocturnal fixed a heavy glare at Sanguine, which he returned with a wink. With the wicked scowl still on her face, she wrapped her cloak around her and pulled herself away. 

Left with only Mephala and Vaermina, Sanguine smiled. “Now, it’s not often I have my two favorite lovely Lords for company…” he took the bottle from Vaermina’s grasp, ignoring how she shook her head and laughed quietly. “But I'd be more than willing to take advantage of the unique situation if you are.” 

“As much as I would love to stay, I have business to conduct elsewhere. I'm sure you'll understand,” Vaermina explained. 

Sanguine sighed. “Fine, fine. But do come back soon. I'd love for you to crawl inside my dreams...” Her laugh was the last thing he heard before she vanished. He turned to Mephala. “Well they do say three’s a crowd. More for us?” He waved the bottle back and forth, and Mephala approached him slowly, placing two of her hands on his chest, one drifting down low. 

“I can't stay and play either. But I'll be back soon. Perhaps if you manage to ensnared the Dragonborn, we can make it a real party.” 

Sanguine grinned lazily at that. The image was certainly nice, if Mera could survive being crushed between two Daedra… 

Or maybe he'd get crushed between Mephala and a Dragonborn. Both were appealing options. 

Mephala laughed at the dreamy look on his face. 

“You're an absolute tease, Mephala my dear.” 

“Only for you Sanguine!” She blew him a kiss before vanishing, leaving him alone with his drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY to all of you who were confused by my accidental posting! I finished both chapters today and tried to post one in class. Yikes! He's the real update, a day earlier than I intended to make up for it. :)


	5. Sweet Nightingales

Saying goodbye to Lydia was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Mera bit down hard on her lip to keep herself under control as she leaned against the door of Breezehome, counting to ten. Lydia had been exceedingly happy to see her. Normally, when Mera planned on coming to Whiterun, she’d send a letter before to let Lydia know. She’d do the same when she planned on being away for a long time, to keep the housecarl from worrying. 

The woman had been by her side from the beginning. They’d traveled most of Skyrim together while Mera worked towards defeating Alduin. At first, Mera had relied heavily on her for backup, but as time passed, she kept her around for just for company. 

She thought on how Lydia’s excitement had turned to concern at Mera’s frantic searching for the heads, and how the housecarl pried at her, trying to discover the source of her distress. And Mera wouldn’t tell her. She couldn’t. 

The Dragonborn wasn’t optimistic about her chances of survival, that much was true. And the last thing she wanted was to drag Lydia down with her on what was a suicide mission. She already regretted inviting the Companions, but as this was an issue for werewolves, it felt odd to deny that of her pack. Lydia wasn’t a wolf or a dragon. She was human, plain and simple. It’d be cruel to ask anything more of her than she’d already done. 

_ “Lydia…” Mera starts. She can’t face the woman, and she keeps her eyes fixed firmly on the wood of the wall in front of her. Her eyes heat painfully, and she shuts them tight.  _

_ “...Yes, my thane?”  _

_ Lydia never calls her thane anymore. Not casually, not like her other Rayya. Their relationship was beyond that at this point, and Lydia only does it when the situation was formal. Or tense.  _

_ “Lydia. If… if I were to die-” _

_ “Don’t say such a stupid thing!” _

_ “Lydia  _ **_please_ ** _ let me talk! I’m leaving you Breezehome.” _

_ “What!?” Lydia sounds offended, horrified by the implication, but it’s tinged with a layer of shock.  _

_ “Listen to me. If something were to happen to me, I’ve made it known to the Jarl that I wanted the house to go to you. This isn’t something new. I… I’ve had this set up for a while now. But I never told you.” Mera turns, facing Lydia. She hates the fear she finds in her eyes, and blinking blurs her vision with water.  _

_ “Mera, whatever’s happened-”  _

_ “I’m fine.”  _

_ “Liar.” _

_ Mera takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes her eyes again. Lydia is quiet as she does, waiting patiently for her to say something that will never come. Instead, Mera hardens herself and walks past Lydia with quick steps, heading to the door. She wants to badly to pause, to hug her housecarl, her friend close and tell her lies until she really thinks Mera will be safe, but she’s wasted too much time. She needs to leave.  _

_ “Goodbye, Lydia. Stay safe.”  _

_ She leaves before Lydia can even return the sentiment.  _

Mera grit her teeth together painfully as she walked up the steps to Jorrvaskr, and when she stepped inside she found Aela and Farkas waiting. 

“We’re just waiting on Vilkas. He’s telling Vignar that we’re going so he can hold down the fort.” Aela explained, and Mera nodded. 

Her shield-sister frowned her way, but Mera shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. 

Maybe, if she died, Lydia would join the Companions. She’d mentioned it in passing before, but never thought herself capable enough for it. Mera was sure Vilkas would let her in now, once he’s Harbinger. 

She exhaled. She couldn’t go on thinking this way, in what ifs in situations where she died at Hircine’s hand. When she fought with Alduin, she let herself get wrapped up in it, and the terror plagued her. But she couldn's fight if she thought that it didn’t matter, that she would die regardless. She had to steel herself to those emotions, and push on. 

With a firm jaw, she greeted Vilkas with a nod as he approached them. 

“Are you ready?” he asked her, and she nodded in affirmation. “Alright, let's go.” 

Wordlessly, Mera lead them outside, stopping just in front of Jorrvaskr to face them. “Before… before we go, I want you to carry these.” 

She reached into her travel pack and removed the bag with the heads. She knew Vilkas had a pack like hers - he and Farkas shared it - and he wanted him to bear the heads. 

“Why?” he asked, but he took it without waiting for her answer. 

“In case we get separated for any reason, I want you both to have your chance at a cure without relying on me.”

Vilkas opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but quickly he closed it. His eyes said all she needed to know. Vilkas knew her too well, all three of them did, and they knew exactly what the gesture entailed. 

Another “what if”. Another “just in case”. 

And that would be the last one she afforded herself, she swore it. 

A silent understand passed between them and after a long moment, Mera turned and walked away, leading them out of Whiterun. 

* * *

 

When Brynjolf didn't find Karliah in the Cistern, he knew there was only one other place she could be. The Dark Elf spent most of her time around the Flagon, but when she wasn't there, it was a sure fire bet that you'd find her at Nightingale Hall. She'd been spending time fixing the old place up, with funding from the Guild, along with personal money that came from both her pocket and Mera’s. 

Brynjolf knew she liked to spend time there alone. It made her feel close to Gallus, or at least he thought so. He tended to leave her be when she decided to take her trips to the Hall. It didn't feel like his place, even though he knew Mera took trips there on occasion.

Not wanting to intrude wasn't the only reason why Brynjolf stayed away. His identity as a Nightingale wasn't exactly something he wanted to get further in touch with. When he swore himself to Nocturnal he did so out of sheer necessity, not for any deeper reasons of faith or belief.

Karliah claimed there was nothing religious about it, and he believed that for some, that might be true, by Karliah just seemed… devout. 

He tried to write it off as an elf thing. They often worshiped daedra, but as a Nord, the concept was unfamiliar and as a thief, doing anything for the sake of 'honor’ or a higher cause that wasn't his pocket was almost unheard off. 

But this didn't stop him from dawning his Nightingale armor and sneaking out of Riften in the dead of the night. 

Even Brynjolf had to admit - the armor was nice. When he wore it, shadows seemed to curl around him, hiding him from ant prying eyes that he was sure would normally catch him. Like forged midnight. That's how he would describe it. And wearing it felt like being one with… the Void or Oblivion or something he couldn't quite put to words. 

It was empowering, to say the least. 

Moving like one with the night, Brynjolf came upon Nightingale Hall and slipped soundlessly inside.

The place had improved since his last visit. Karliah had cleaned up the cobwebs and got rid of most of the broken furniture and replaced it with fresh, sturdy beds and chairs. It was impressive, considering no outsider could come inside to help her. 

He found the night thief reading a book in the main hall, and he purposely made noise to alert her to his presence before he could startle her. 

Karliah lifted her head, her unique violet eyes looking right at him. She wore her armor too, but without the hood. He pulled his off as he approached. 

“Brynjolf,” her ever soft voice greeted him, a hint of surprising lacing her words. “I don't normally see you around here.” 

“I know.” He answered simply as he took the seat across from her. She looked him over, examining his face as a frown crept onto hers. 

“This isn't a social call.” She stated rather than asked. “What's happened? Is the Guild alright? And why isn't Mera with you?” 

Brynjolf didn't mean to flinch when Karliah said her name, but his face scrunched slightly regardless. He didn't wait for her to ask more questions before he pulled the note out of a pocket that was hidden on the armor. 

“Mera sent me this. I got it just last night,” reaching out with one hand,  he gave her the note. When he realized Karliah wasn't in the Cistern, it had been late, and Brynjolf had been tired. And worried. Worried about Mera, and worried about the Guild. Going to Nightingale Hall to tell Karliah opened up the possibility that they would be talking to Nocturnal here, and that meant they could possibly be dispatched to gods knew where. He had to square up business first, make sure that Delvin and Vex had everything they needed to run the show in case of a long absence. Or in case the worst happened. 

Brynjolf wasn't quite sure what the worst would even be. 

Karliah took the note from him, opening it with nimble fingers and skimming over the words. If her sharp intake of breath was anything to go by, she was just as shocked as he was. 

“War with Hircine? Shadows preserve us…” she looked to him, placing the note face down on the table. “You didn't know?” 

“Which part?” He asked dryly. “That Mera is a werewolf? That she’s important enough to start a war between two Daedric Lords? Mera's kept many, many secrets from me, lass. I've learned to stop being offended.” 

“I'm sorry Brynjolf.”

Her apology surprised him, especially since he wasn't sure what she was sorry for. A closer look at his expression told him all he needed to know. 

So much time had passed since he started sleeping with Mera. While he wasn't exactly the type for romance or love or commitment, he'd hesitantly admitted to himself months ago that what he had with Mera was the closest to the real thing he would ever get. 

It was strange, caring so much for one person, and it often left him confused as he tried to place exactly how deep it went. He was pretty sure he wouldn't care (much) if Mera slept with someone else, but the idea of whatever makeshift thing they had stopping sat like an uncomfortable rock in his stomach.

And Mera being some legendary Dragonborn certainly didn't make it any easier. 

“Yeah.” Was all he managed in response. After a beat, Karliah spoke. 

“We need to speak with Nocturnal, if she’ll hear us,” 

“Aye, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“She might have a task for us. It'd be best to go to her first, rather than her forcefully seek us out later,” she explained. 

He knew she was right, and he nodded. “Lead the way.”

Brynjolf had decided after his first visit to Nightingale Hall that there was little on Nirn more intimidating that speaking with a Daedric Prince. Since putting Mercer to justice, he'd read up more on the Princes. He might not be a devoutly religious man, but he figured if his soul was guaranteed to go to a Daedric Lord in death, he should know more about Oblivion and daedra than what he learned about the Oblivion Crisis as a child. Of all the Lords, he learned, Nocturnal was one of the better ones to owe his soul to. From as far as he could tell, she really was a 'you scratch by back' sort of person... daedra... god. She was likely to keep her word.

Brynjolf took his place on the far right of the room, standing on the sigil and waiting for Karliah to do the same. It was hard to keep his eyes on her, and they wandered to the empty place where Mera stood the last time they were there together. Then Karliah cleared her throat, and he forced his attention to the center of the room. 

Karliah had barely begun to call upon the Prince when the same ball of black and purple fire that had appeared that first day showed face again. 

“Do we have business to conduct, Karliah?” 

The voice, feminine and smooth, was tainted by an edge of annoyance that bit through the words. Brynjolf found himself wanting to be anywhere but there. 

Karliah got down on one knee, and after a beat of hesitation Brynjolf didn't the same. “Great Lady Nocturnal! We've heard word of your potential battle with Hircine and have come to see what you would wish for us to do,” 

“Ah, all two of you, I see,” Nocturnal’s voice was thick with sarcasm, “Are you sure it’s me you’d like to help? I think it’s your friend you’re after.” 

“Your Grace-”

“Very popular girl, Mera,” Nocturnal continued without hesitation. “When I said that your deal had been weighed in my favor when you offered me two souls, I had wondered if you knew that one was the Dragonborn. A human touched by the Divines is quite the sought after prize. I should have known better to agree. Look at all the grief it’s cost me!” 

“My Lady-”

“Silence!” Nocturnal’s voice shook the room, and a stray stone fell from the roof of the cave. Then, the Prince sighed. “It was wise of you to come to me, Karliah, and offer your assistance preemptively. I  _ refuse _ to have that fool Hircine question my claim. Hunting my Nightingale!” 

Brynjolf held his breath, closed his eyes, and counted. He had questions, and he so desperately wanted to speak, but talking directly with the Prince was not something he was eager to try out. Not today. 

Karliah breathed. “What would you have us do, Your Grace?” 

“If you think your bow will make a difference in a fight between two Daedric Lords you are mistaken, Karliah.” Her voice boomed, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but think that this was a horrible mistake. “I would have you do nothing.” A pause. “Yet.” 

Brynjolf couldn’t help himself from saying, “Yet?” 

Though Nocturnal’s projection had no eyes, no face to speak of, he could  _ feel  _ her focus shift to him. “Yes, yet Brynjolf, for I may have some use for you in the future. Sanguine thinks he can secure her soul. Ha! We will see about that,” As if realizing that she wasn’t making sense to the mortals in the room, she spoke again. “Bide your time, my Nightingales, and be ready if I call on you.” 

The fire in the room crackled, and was swallowed completely by darkness, leaving Karliah and Brynjolf alone in the hall. 

Karliah wordlessly moved to the center, and after Brynjolf got back on his feet he did the same. He spoke, hesitantly, trying to think of what he should say, but his head kept spinning. “That was…” 

“Not as useful as you thought? That’s how it is when them,” Karliah said, but she sounded tired. “I suggest we do as she says. Carry on as normal and wait for her to call.” 

Brynjolf didn’t like it. He felt useless, sitting there and waiting while Mera was off doing gods knew what. He supposed that came with the territory. The lass was more than just the Guild Master, she was a hero, a thing of gossip amongst Divines and Daedric Lords alike. 

Brynjolf felt a hand on his shoulder. Karliah stood facing him, looking at him with her large eyes. She looked sad. She didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any words of comfort, but the simple gesture was enough. 

“I’d better get back to Riften. I want to make sure the Guild has a plan and a back up plan in case anything happens.” He explained to her and she nodded, pulling her hand away. 

“I’ll stick around here for now, but I’ll be back at the Cistern soon. I think it’d be smart if we stuck nearby one another until we either hear from Nocturnal or Mera.” 

Brynjolf agreed. If something bad were to happen, he needed Karliah there with him, so they could deal with it together. He offered her one of his sly smiles, playing at normalcy. “I’ll see you in the sewers, Karliah.” 

“See you in the sewers,” she offered a hesitant smile back at him as he turned to walk away. “And Brynjolf?” 

He paused, looking over his shoulder at her. 

“Be safe.” 

Brynjolf didn’t answer. He fixed his eyes forward and kept walking until he was out in the night once more. Pulling up his hood, closed his eyes, taking in the cool air through his nose. 

Be safe. He hoped that he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! 
> 
> If you didn't notice, I added the Brynjolf/Dragonborn tag to this fic. Originally I hadn't intended for that relationship to matter for this story, but the other day I finally worked out the details for how this thing is going to end, and Brynjolf somehow became a bigger part of it all! 
> 
> The next chapter will have more Mera, and perhaps a bit more of your favorite Daedric Lords


	6. Waking Dreams

 

The plan was to head to Windhelm, first. 

Well, not to the city itself, but Mera thought it would be best if they stayed out of the snow covered tundra for as long as possible, and far away from the coast and ice fields until it was necessary. In the vast forests of Skyrim, there were plenty of trees, rocks, hills, and caves for them to use as shelter and camouflage. In their armor, they would stick out like a sore thumb in the snow. It would be impossible to hide form any prying eyes. 

At least, that was what Mera had learned from fighting dragons. In the far north, it was always more difficult to avoid a fight because once a dragon caught sight of her movement, she stood out like a black dot amongst the endless blankets of white. She hoped the strategy would also work for Hircine.

They’d chosen not to take horses with them. It would make the trip faster, but horses were loud, and couldn’t cut through the thick forest as easily as they could on foot. Having four more animals with them would only draw more attention to them then they needed. 

The plan was to walk north from Whiterun, then cut east, staying close enough to the main road to not lose their way in the wilderness, but far enough off it that tracking them would be more difficult. 

They walked nearly a full day before coming to a real rest, taking only quick breaks for water and food. Mera pushed them along with little regard to human necessities. She wanted to put as much distance between them and Whiterun Hold as possible before the night fell. To their credit, none of the Companions complained. They were hardened warriors, used to conditions as rough as this. 

She’d ease up in the morning, she promised herself. Getting far fast was tempting but impossible if she burnt herself out as well as her traveling companions. They rolled out bedrolls, flat and uncomfortable, providing only enough to separate them from the ground. Aela had disappeared not too long after they started setting up camp, looking for game. They’d brought simple foods, cheese, carrots, bread, but nothing curved hunger quite like meat, and Aela was an expert at bringing it home. 

They’d chosen a small jut in the side of a clif to hide in, not quite deep enough to be a cave but enough to keep them from feeling too exposed. Farkas sat on a log next to her and Vilkas built a small fire, placing dried branches in a small pit, but he was struggling to get it started. 

He grunted to himself as he tried to get the wood to heat enough for a flame, cursing as he kept slipping. She watched him try and fail again to get a spark before leaning in. “Let me,” she said. 

Wordlessly he handed her the starter but she shook her head, throwing it into the pit. She brought her hand close to the pile of wood and focused hard, trying to reach deep within herself to find whatever magic was there. Mera had never gotten a full grasp on magic. She tried, gods did she try, even going as far as to join the college of Winterhold, but it hadn’t helped. Most Nords just weren’t meant to cast spells, it seemed. But that didn’t mean she was completely useless. 

A lick of a flame started in her palm, dying quickly and she cursed. She focused harder, just enough to get a small spark at the tip of her fingers. That was all she needed. It fell from her hand, into the pilings, and the dried wood caught light in an instant. 

“Show off,” Farkas said, amusement coming through in his voice and Mera chuckled. 

“Show off? I barely conjured a spark. If I was showing off, I would have shouted at it,” 

Farkas laughed and she leaned over, nudging him and he moved way more than necessary, acting like she was stronger than she was.

She caught the sound of Vilkas laughing quietly under his breath, and for a moment she smiled. It was genuine, careless, and she was able to forget about why they were here. If only for that moment. 

Aela returned with a few rabbits strung up and hanging around her neck. “Ah, you got the fire going, good. I was worried I was going to have to show you how it's done.”

“Mera took care of it with  _ magic _ ,” Farkas said with an exaggerated scoff. 

“Oh shush,” Mera shoved him again and they all managed a laugh. 

Aela skinned the rabbits and put them over the fire, turning them when needed and keeping an eye on the flames. Vilkas had gone out, scouting the area for any potential threat, which Mera was glad for. She was too jumpy for that right now. A squirrel running through the bush would have sounded like Hircine to her.

When he returned, the food was done, and they ate in relative silence.

“...I'm sorry for pushing us so far today.” Mera said after she was well through the meat in front of her. 

“No worries, sister,” Aela was quick to dismiss it. 

“I'm glad you're here with me. I…” she wanted to say more, but the words clung to the back of her mouth, not quite forming on her tongue. Farkas put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt lucky, lucky that they understood. 

Finally, Aela stood. “I'll take first watch tonight.” 

“I've got second.” Farkas said soon after. 

“Third.” She and Vilkas claimed it at the same time. Mera shook her head and sighed. “Doesn't matter.” 

She hoped they would wake her, but she knew they wouldn't. Not first night. 

Once they'd cleaned up, Mera made her way to her bedroll and climbed inside, staring up at the dark of the endless sky and the twin moons that hung there. She wished she could appreciate its beauty.

 

* * *

 

Mera sees a book. It's black and from afar that is all she sees. Black. It's only when she gets closer that she notices the patterns. Pressed into the dark leather is a light, intricate design. A monster, a creature with tentacles and claws adorns the front in the center of a seel and Mera knows she's seen it somewhere before, but she can't figure out where. 

She hears a whisper, echoing around her and she turns her head, her blonde hair spinning with her speed. Around here is a darkness so thick she can't see anything, nothing except for the pedestal and the book. 

Is this what the Void looks like? 

She hears the whisper, a hiss of an unintelligible word, calling to her again, but this time she knows it's the book. She takes a slow step forward, and the sound of her foot hitting the ground beneath her feet could be heard for miles. Mera closes the space between her and the black book, and looks down at it, eyes wide and suspicious. 

_ Open it _ . 

She doesn't hear it someone say it, like it's a tangible word, but she feels the instruction rush through her.  

_ Open it.  _

Reaching out, her hand is trembling. 

_ Open… me…. _

Her hand comes to rest on the surface of the book. It's warm, and her fingers curl around the edge of the cover, ready to take good. The sigil on the front moves, slightly, like it's come to life at her touch. Slowly, she tries to open it. 

_ Don’t you want to know who you are? _

 

* * *

 

Mera woke up with a harsh gasp. She sat up straight while one hand gripped her chest as she took in ragged breaths. The breeze felt cool against the sweat that covered her skin. 

“Was it Hircine?” 

“Fuck!” She cursed, jumping out of her skin as she whipped her head around to see Aela, sitting awake on a log and watching her, face half illuminated by the fire. 

“Sorry,” she apologized.

Mera pulled herself out of her bedroll, groaning as her back protested from the few hours she spent sleeping on the hard ground. She stretched, and walked over to sit beside Aela. 

“So was it?” 

“Huh?” 

“Hircine. Was that what you saw?” 

Aela was no stranger to Mera’s night terrors. She had them frequently, especially after taking the beast blood. Usually it was Alduin who haunted her, and even when she killed him she failed the fully banish him from her dreams. But this…. 

“Yeah,” the lie came easily, and she said it without thinking. Aela simply nodded in response, turning to face the low flames. 

Mera didn’t know why she witheald the truth about her dream, but it felt too strange to attempt to explain. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as her eyes drifted to the sleeping forms of Vilkas and Farkas on the other side of the fire. Farkas seemed to sleep soundly, unmoving aside from the occasional twitch in his face. Vilkas on the other hand was restless, turning and grunting quietly in his sleep. It put a frown on her face. 

“I know your thoughts on separating from the beast blood,” Mera started, and she was surprised by how hoarse her voice sounded, “but I think it’ll be good for them.” 

Aela was quiet for a long time, and she felt the woman shift beside her. Reluctantly, she spoke, “I agree. When… when Skjor was still around, and before Kodlak searched for a cure, things were different. We were a pack. We’re still a pack, but I see now how heavily it weighs on them. I stopped thinking of Sovngarde as my spirit home years ago, and I long to see Skjor in the Hunting Grounds, but I know it’s not for them.” 

Aela’s soft honesty squeezed at Mera’s heart. She never spoke of Skjor, not since they had avenged him. Mera knew it was painful for her to do so. “You’ll see him again. Just as they’ll see Kodlak.” After a pause, she continued. “I hope this doesn’t hurt your view of Hircine. I… as angry and scared as I am, I get it, you know? It was me who played with fire, who made mistakes. He only wants what he thinks is his.” 

No, she didn’t blame Hircine, much like she didn’t blame Alduin for his plight. The World Eater. That was his title, his task. It was what he was placed here to do, just as she was made to stop him. She found herself thinking of the Daedric Lord much in the same light. Lord Hircine put a price on lycanthropy. She was the one trying not to pay it. 

Aela didn’t respond and if anything, that hurt more, but Mera resigned to sit in silence until Aela finally spoke again. “How have things been in Riften?” 

A change of subject, then. “They’ve been well. I’m happy to be back. The people there…” she trailed off, trying to put it into words but Aela spoke before she could. 

“I understand,” she said, and Mera was glad for it. “...And how’s Brynjolf?” 

By the tone in Aela’s voice, Mera knew that it was an attempt to lighten the conversation, but all it did was serve as a painful reminder. Her stomach clenched and she opened her mouth, trying to find what to say. 

“What happened?” Aela asked quickly. “Is he alright?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m worried about him, Aela,” she paused, and her sister’s silence gave her permission to continue, “We’re both sworn to Nocturnal. She protects and guides us, and we are bound to serve her if she calls. To protect her temple or carry out her word. I’m… fuck,” she hung her head, taking in a shaky breath. 

“You’re worried about what could happen if something escalates between Nocturnal and Hircine.” 

Mera simply nodded.

Aela didn’t offer false promises or empty words of reassurance. She simply placed her hand on where Mera’s rested beside her on the log. Turning it, Mera met her and laced her fingers through the older woman’s, and closed her eyes when Aela squeezed her tightly before letting go. 

“You should rest,” Aela said after a long break between them. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mera nodded, stretching her back before standing and shuffling over to her bedroll. 

“Try and get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” 

She laid down and closed her eyes, exhaling out a long breath. “Yeah, I will. Goodnight, Aela.” 

“Goodnight.” 

 

“Sanguine!” His name was a hiss in her voice as Vaermina appeared. 

The Prince in question raised his brows in question, looking the other Lord over as she paced. He’d been in the middle of pouring himself a cup of brandy, and he picked up another empty tankard and filled it, too. With both cups in hand, he approached her, holding one out until she snatched it from him. 

“What is it, Vaermina? I haven’t seen you this wound up in…” he trailed off, furrowing his brow in thought. Had he ever seen her like this? It was hard to say. He shrugged rather than finish his sentence, taking a drink. 

“It’s Hermaeus Mora,” she growled. “How  _ dare  _ he-!” 

The Prince of Nightmares yelled, hurling her cup against the wall, splashing the liquor everywhere. If Sanguine didn’t have access to endless food and drink, he’d have some choice words about that, even still he was upset about the damage on the wall. Someone was going to have to clean that up, and it wouldn’t be him. But Vaermina had never acting this irrational and emotionally in front of him before. That was the bigger matter for concern. 

And Hermaeus’ name being the cause certainly set off the alarm bells. 

“What’s he done?” Sanguine pressed. 

“He’s using sleep to speak with the Dragonborn. Riding nightmares to invade her mind and seed his  _ wretched  _ influence!” 

The Prince of Debauchery frowned. He’d been afraid of that. Since his meeting with the other Princes, he’d been trying to think of how he’d approach the Dragonborn to convince her to join him in the Myriad Realms. It wouldn’t be an easy task, considering how hard she was fighting to stay out of one Princes’ grasp, it wasn’t likely she’d so eagerly go into another’s. And he was hesitant to tell her directly about the issue with Hermaeus. 

Dragons loved power, and Hermaeus Mora was offering knowledge that could make her one of the most powerful mortals to grace the face of Nirn. While, morally, she tended to avoid straying down the path of domination, desire was not something that could be easily hidden from Sanguine. He saw it in her, lurking behind her heart like a dark shadow. She tasted power, when the dragons yielded to her, when she defeated Alduin, and like all Dragonborns before her, she wanted more.

It was a part of the reason why he loved playing with the little mortal so much. 

“Have you seen them? What he’s using?” He asked, feeling his own annoyance bubble in him. 

“He tempts her with knowledge, but I’m unsure what it is. I woke her once I realized what was happening, but he showed her a book. That  _ slimy _ …!” 

“Easy, Vaermina,” Sanguine attempted to sooth, going over to the other daedra and standing just behind her, a hand on each of her shoulders as he spoke in her ear. “We can’t afford to lose our heads now, can we? If Mora plans to play dirty, so will we.” 

He could practically feel the heat of her anger radiating off of her, but her shoulders relaxed just slightly as he turned to face him. “Do you have a plan?” she asked him and he gave her a nefarious grin. 

“Oh I do, and I think you’re going to like it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! Sorry this one was a little on the shorter side. The next one will be much longer, the longest chapter yet! Promise :) 
> 
> As always I thrive on your comments. They give me the will power to keep posting, and make me want to write more frequently. I nearly cried after some of the nice comments you've given me, so thank you! This has become somewhat of a therapy for me, and knowing that people enjoy this just makes it so much sweeter :)


	7. I Will Go Where You Can't Follow

Hircine stands in the plains of Whiterun, Dragonsreach a silhouette behind him against the silver moon. His favorite Hound, the she-wolf, howls at the moon and a chorus replies to her, beasts across Skyrim answering the call. The hunt begins.

 

* * *

 

Wake up. Pack bags. Put out fire. Walk. Each task was done with a sense of automatic monotony as the Companions set out for their second day of travel. Mera wasn't sure about the others, but she felt far from rested. Her dream, or nightmare, whatever it had been, hadn't returned after she woke up that first time, but that didn't make sleep any easier. She wanted to drag her feet, to lay down in the dirt and not get up until she got a decent amount of sleep, but they didn't have time for that. Not with Hircine close behind. 

From the sky, a steady rain fell, drenching her hair through and making her boots squelch under her feet. Rain was good, she thought. It would clear her scent, eliminating their trail and washing their footprints away, but it didn’t make traveling any easier. 

It’d started in the afternoon, a few scattered soft drops hitting her on the head, but now it was coming down in a much heavier stream. With the sun getting lower in the sky, seeing far in front of them was becoming difficult, and the noise from the drops hitting the leaves and the ground drowned out most of the other sounds of the forest. 

It would be far to easy to sneak up on them. 

Mera frowned, looking to Vilkas who lead the team, his large frame taking up most of her field of few. His hair laid flat on his head, and the rain rolled off his armor. To her left, only a step behind her, Farkas moved with heavy steps, also looking the part of a wet dog. He glared up at the sky, as if fixing a hard enough look would stop the water from falling. It would have been cute had the circumstances been different. 

Then, with all the volume the sky could muster, thunder cracked above them, sounding like a dragon that fell from the sky. Mera nearly jumped out of her skin, and she saw Vilkas hunker down in front of her, flinching and looking up with his hand nearing his sword. 

Was their battle instinct so easily fooled by a storm? 

Above them the dark sky flashed bright, and a bundle of nerves found its way into Mera’s stomach. They couldn’t keep walking in this. It wasn’t safe. On any other day, she would have shouted, clearing the sky of clouds with her hands on her hips and a smug smile on her face, but she didn’t want to risk it. They would have to stop early, tonight. 

Shouting was, well, loud, and a surefire way to draw unwanted attention: dragon or otherwise. She looked around, trying to peer through the gloom to find a place for them to take cover, and she spotted a cave.

Mera stopped short, and cupped her hands around her face. “Vilkas!” She shouted above the pounding of the rain and he turned to face her. She pointed towards the cave and his eyes followed her finger. Wordlessly, he nodded, and started off in that direction. 

The rain fell like a sheet at the mouth of the cave and one by one they passed through it, first Vilkas, then Mera, followed by Farkas and Aela. They all stood soaked, dripping onto the cave floor as they wandered in deeper. 

“Let’s make sure nothing’s living here before we settle in,” Mera said, her voice a cautious whisper as she crouched low. Aela followed her lead, always the sneakiest member of the circle, Mera excluded. They entered into a large dome, rain coming in from a small crack in the ceiling to the side, but aside from a fox that sprinted away when they entered, it was unoccupied. 

It would be a good place to spend the night. 

“Look,” Farkas called from where he had been investigating a stone pillar towards the middle of the room. By his feet was a fire pit with a metal turner over it, looking like the kind of thing she usually saw in bandit camps. “Someone’s been here,” 

Aela approached, looking at the metal and shaking her head. “It’s rusted. Whoever it was is long gone.” 

Still, there were a few small tunnels around the edge of the cave. While unlikely that anything would be hiding in them, caution was best. Standing in the center of the room, Mera shouted. “ _ Fus… ro!”  _ In the cave, she was less afraid of someone outside hearing and discovering them, and she was sure two words would be loud enough to draw anything else out. Nothing came. 

“We’ll be safe here,” she finally determined, turning to find Vilkas setting up camp. She walked over to him and took a seat on a broken log, watching as Aela poked at the fireplace. 

“Pity we didn’t catch that fox,” Farkas muttered. “Would have made good for dinner,” 

“You want to go out in the storm and look for it, ice brains?” Aela teased, earning a grunt from the twin and a twitch of a smile in Vilkas’ lips. Farkas tossed a balled up piece of cloth at Aela, who dodged it effortlessly with a smirk.

Gods, Mera loved them. She felt her affection ache in her chest as she watched them interact. It was times like this when she realized she’d do just about anything to keep them safe. 

Like kill the leader of a group of werewolf hunters. Or fight a dragon-god. 

A rock sunk in her stomach as her smile was replaced by a frown. It was selfish of her to have them here, running alongside her from the wrath of Hircine. Suddenly she found she didn’t want to sit cozy by the fire anymore, despite her soaking bones. She needed to get away from them, to stop seeing their faces and think clearly. 

She stood abruptly, ignoring the confused look on Farkas’ face when she did. 

“I’m going to go check out that outcove. Double check to make sure nothing’s lurking in the shadows,” She explained. 

“Do you want company?” Farkas was quick to offer, but she shook her head. 

“No, there’s probably nothing. I just need to clear my head.”

“Shout if you need us,” Vilkas said.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to hear me,” Mera called with her back turned as she headed in the direction of the crevasse in the stone. 

She had to turn on her side to fit through the crack, but after a few steps, it widened up and she had enough room to move. She only went a bit further than that, just far enough that the voices in the main part of the cave became a dull murmur that she couldn’t quite make out the words to. 

She leaned her back against the wall, hands on her knees as she hunched over and breathed. 

“Come…. closer.”

Mera’s eyes flew open at the sudden voice, deep. It sounded the way ink bled onto a page. 

“Further. Come further…” It called again, and looking up she noticed it was beckoning her deeper into the cave. 

She turned her head, looking back to the light that filtered in from the main room where the Companions were probably eating. She should tell them, tell them about the voice before she went to investigate it but-

“You… are in danger. They are in danger… come, speak with me,” 

Mera looked back down, into the dark of the cave, and found it glowed. It wasn’t the soft, familiar blue of a glowing mushroom, but a deeper, darker shade of green. It pulsated, like the beating of a heart, and hesitantly she took a step towards it. 

“Yes… come closer… deeper… I have knowledge that you seek.” 

She let her fingers trail across the cold stone beside her as she walked, using it as a way to ground her. The muttered sounds of the Companions talking seemed to vanish, and all she could hear was her breathing and the sound of soil crunching beneath her feet. 

_ Closer _ . 

Through the green tentacles, dark and sickly, crept across the floor, over the walls, moving towards her at an inching pace. She paused, taking a step back, but they didn’t reach for her. If anything, they curled away, like a finger calling her towards their source. 

When she saw it, her throat dried, constricting in on itself as her stomach turned to stone. Fear. Fear and morbid fascination overcame her as she came to the end of the tunnel. 

A single eye, blinking and terrible, floating in a dark mass and surrounded by tentacles took up the entire back wall of the dead end. She’d seen this monster before.

“Hermaeus Mora,” she breathed his name. 

“Kneel… before your lord, Champion.” 

Mera gaped, shaking as tendrils lashed out and wrapped around her calves, pulling so she fell onto her knees. She caught herself with her hands, and raised her head to look the creature in his many eyes as they bubbled in and out of existence. 

She thought back to only a few days ago, when she found Sanguine in her home, a god in the flesh, waiting to talk to her, and how she’d been nervous and unbelievably cautious but this was very, very different. 

As daedric interactions went, she held Sanguine somewhere closer to Sheogorath. Powerful? Yes. Dangerous? Of course. Terrifying? Possibly. A direct immediate threat to her life? Probably not. 

But Hermaeus Mora…. He drifted much closer to her opinion of Molag Bal, the Prince who trapped her in a cage, hurt her and terrorized her just for laughs, and then made her go on a journey to please him. 

Mera thought back to Septimus. Hermaeus Mora was certainly clear about how he dealt with Champions that no longer pleased him. 

“Yes, bask in my presence… know my power.” His voice was like oil, as black as ink as it slid over her. 

Choosing her words carefully, Mera spoke, more than a little ashamed by how her voice shook, “Herm- Lord Hermaeus Mora, why have you come here?” 

In every crack, every grove of the walls of the cave, tendrils slipped in and out, some stemming directly from his shapeless form, others seeming to simply come from the walls. She felt like she had entered the web of a frostbite spider, and at any moment he could wrap her up in it. 

“Your quest to escape Lord Hircine is….futile. The Prince of the Hunt never releases his prey.” 

A harsh, violent shudder crept through her body at his words. She forced herself up, still on her knees but off of her hands, to better look at him. Hermaeus Mora, master of knowledge, fate and memories… if anyone would know the inevitable outcome of it all, it was him. 

“Continuing on this way…. You will die at his hand, Dragonborn,” he hummed the words, letting them roll over his tongue like he was tasting each one before he said it. “Unless…” 

She hung onto his words, and when he paused, unendingly, she leaned forward and risked using her own voice, a rough whisper, “Unless what?” 

“You change your path.” His large eye focused directly on her as he said it, and she gasped harshly as she felt a tendril snake its way up her back, over her armor as another wrapped more securely around her thigh, keeping her on the ground. 

“Change my path…?” She ventured to speak again, watching how his eye moved, like he was rolling it at her, before focusing back on her face once again. “How?” 

“My fellow Princes and I… we are strongest in our own planes of Oblivion. Apocrypha is the seat of my power, where nothing could dare to touch me,” he paused, considering her reaction before continuing. “In the right…. Realm of Oblivion, nothing would dare to touch you.” 

She felt dizzy, head spinning  as she tried to hone in on his words. She felt stupid, stupid and small beneath him as she struggled with the concept, with what he was offering her or at the very least insinuating. Protection from a Prince? But who would be willing to spit in Hircine’s face? Who wouldn’t take her and hurt her in response. And even then… 

“Sanguine…” she started hesitantly, “believes that my soul won’t go to Oblivion when I die. How could I-”

He cut her off with what sounded like an exasperated sigh. “ _ Sanguine _ ,” he said the name with some contempt, and Mera’s mind filled in the blanks as to how the two of them must get along, “is a fool, but not in this. His assumption is likely correct…  but even I cannot see what will befall you in death,”

“Then how-”

“Silence while I speak, mortal.” Another tentacle, thick and terrible, wrapped around one of her arms, holding it while squeezing tightly. He didn’t raise his voice, but the threat was clear. “You need not perish to find sanctuary in Oblivion…. You only need be offered it…” 

Mera looked down as she thought, but smaller tendril, thinner than the rest, came up and wrapped under her chin, lifting her head and forcing her to look back at him. Her blood was ice in her veins as she realized exactly what he was suggesting. 

“Are you offering, my Lord?” she breathed the words, knowing she walked on thin ice. He had her, wrapped quite literally up in him, and at any moment he could decide to take it back, to snap her neck or throw her to the literal wolves that were hunting her at this moment. 

“Perhaps,” he mused aloud while one of his many appendages stroked at her face, pushing hair from her eyes. It made her feel impossibly small and weak and young when he leveled his horrible gaze back at her again. “You…  would not be the first I have given asylum to… but know, Dragonborn, that this would not come freely.” 

Warning bells blared in the back of Mera’s mind. She wanted to turn tail and flee, to call Odahviing or Paarthurnax and have them fly her so far they left Skyrim, Cyrodiil, Valenwood, and Elsweyr all far behind them. If there was an edge to this world, she wanted to throw herself off of it. 

Instead, she opened her mouth and spoke again, “What would you wish of me?” 

“You have sworn yourself to many daedra…. And you have sworn yourself to me…. I seek a new Champion… one to serve under me and… carry out my will. From this you would benefit greatly, Dragonborn. For I have power… that you so desperately wish to possess. Knowledge that you seek.” 

Hermaeus wanted a pet. A servant. A mortal to bend at his metaphorical feet and do as he desired. To the slayer of Alduin who could get dragons to yield to her voice, this hardly seemed appealing. But his offer, knowledge… power… Mera had to admit that was tempting. 

“And… what is this knowledge that I seek?” She had to ask, had to know what exactly it was he was offering. 

“Hmmm, you are young, Dragonborn…. Very young, with memories that barely span two mortal years. I can feel your need…. Your craving… as I feel the desires of all seekers of knowledge…. You wish to know who you are. Who you were, before the dragons… before Alduin.” 

Mera’s breath was frozen in her lungs and her brain seemed to ice over at the concept. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, aching with a desperate need as she blinked water from her eyes. She had given up hope, long ago, that she would ever discover who she was. She had assumed she sustained a head injury during the Imperial ambush, and that her memories had been lost, never to be recovered. Of course the Daedric Prince of Memory would be able to help her. It was almost embarrassing that she hadn’t thought of it before. Shakily, she asked him, “You know who I am?” 

His response should have been anticipated, but still she shuddered when he said it. 

“I know…  _ everything _ .” 

She opened her mouth again, breathing hard, but he interrupted her before she could speak. “Ask me no questions, Dragonborn, for I will not answer. This information will not come freely…  and you will consider my offer.” 

She let her head hang forward. Of course. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Servitude in Oblivion in exchange for her life and for her past. The monster drove quite the hard bargain. 

“I will leave you to consider… but before I do… a gift for my Champion.”

Mera couldn’t process what was happening until it was too late. She was gripped by her ankles and her wrists, around her middle and around her neck, and she was lifted until her toes barely touched the ground. The long tendril around her neck wrapped its way up, until it was covering her mouth and muffling her shocked gasps. She could only watch with wide eyes as one tentacle floated towards her, slow and steady, until it came to touch the center of her forehead. 

Blank. Her whole mind cleared and was nothing except for pain. She would have screamed herself hoarse if it weren’t for the ga g and the constrict on her neck preventing her from ruining her throat. 

The world turned white. 

Blood, blood. There’s so much blood. She sees it coat the ground, running like a river. She doesn’t know how, but she knows Aela is dead. Turning her head only confirms this. The woman lies still, throat ripped out and hand loose around her bow. 

Red. 

She hears Vilkas scream, but she can’t move quickly enough to save him. She sees it happen from a distance, but no matter how much she runs, how hard she pushes her legs she can’t seem to get any closer. 

Farkas lies still on the ground, his brother over him, desperately fighting off a hound who’s jowls are wet with blood. A second grabs his arm, and he screams his pain again. 

There’s more screaming, but this time it’s her. She looks down, and through her stomach she sees a spear, dripping with her gore as it plunges straight through her. She feels a hand on her shoulder, yanking her closer and forcing the spear deeper inside. There’s a hiss in her ear. Hircine. 

But it’s not his voice that speaks. This voice is smoother, darker, deeper. 

Inky. 

“He’ll claim them if they’re there when he finds you. And you will die trying to save them.” 

She feels the spear gets ripped out behind her, leaving a gaping hole in her torso. Mera falls to her knees and she weeps until she fades completely. 

Mera opened her eyes, finding herself cold and alone, curled up on the ground. Her stomach hurt, a burning pain that didn't feel like hunger, and frantically she touched it, searching for her wound only to find herself whole. 

Someone was yelling her name. “Mera!” 

Aela. She knew that voice anywhere. Her sister sounded close, nearing her in the tunnel and Mera jumped to her feet, ignoring the blood rush in her head at the sudden movement as she walked on shaky legs towards the Huntress. 

“I'm here!” She called, and her voice cracked. She cleared it, and tried again. “Here, Aela.” 

She rounded the corner and came face to face with the woman, who had a steady frown on her face. “What's keeping you? I worried something might have happened.” 

In the back of her mind, Mera saw her blood. Aela laying cold and still and soaked in red and gore. She nearly gagged at the thought, but instead she forced a week smile onto her face. 

“Sorry. I just got lost in thought I guess,” She explained weakly. 

Aela looked suspicious, but she thankfully didn't question her. Instead, she gestured with her head back towards the entrance. “Come on. I cooked up some stew with what we had. You need to eat.” 

Wordlessly, Mera nodded, and followed her out. She was greeted by an equally confused and suspicious look from Vilkas when she came and sat down between him and his brother, avoiding eye contact with them both. 

In place of their words, all she could hear was screams. 

Tonight. Mera had to leave them tonight. She only hoped they would understand. 

“I'll take first watch, tonight,” Vilkas spoke. 

“Second.” Farkas offered and Mera nearly sighed in relief. 

While, as wolves, they were all marginally more perceptive than the average Nord, Aela was the most in tune with her instincts. If she tried sneaking away with her sister on watch, it'd be hard not to get caught. 

Mera didn’t speak as she cleaned up their dinner, afraid of giving herself away. It wasn’t hard. The rock in her throat prevented her from saying a thing. 

She didn’t take off any of her armor aside from her boots with the excuse of staying ready for any midnight attack, which satisfied the curious looks that landed on her. Laying down, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Hours past before Mera felt safe enough to move. Vilkas had gotten up, strolling around the cave in an attempt to keep himself awake, and he sat near the back. She could hear him tossing a stone up in the air and catching it, the soft sound of it hitting the flesh of his palm becoming a dull pattern in the back of her mind.

Getting up was slow as she crawled out of her bedroll and inching across the ground. She prayed to Nocturnal to cloak her in the shadows. Mera glanced at her bedroll in mourning. Packing it would make too much noise and draw far too much attention to herself. She’d have to abandon it, and rough it the rest of the way. Her pack was resting close to where Farkas slept, and she moved silently, testing each step before letting her weight fall as she inched closer to the bulk of his body. Her hand inched forward, slowly going to grab the bag, but she froze when he suddenly turned, thinking she was caught. 

His eyes were still closed. It was the first time in a long time that he appeared to be resting peacefully, and if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was dead. She covered her mouth, stifling her near whine and exhaled lowly. 

He would be fine. Aela would be fine. Vilkas would be fine. Even if she wouldn’t be, at least she could save them. 

Pack in hand, she stalked away, crouching low and hugging the shadows on the walls. Vilkas had stopped throwing his stone and she held her breath, looking around the space to be sure he wasn’t following her. She didn’t see him, but she heard him move on the opposite side of the room. She breathed again. 

Once at the mouth of the cave, Mera hesitated. Would they know what happened to her? Would they think she got taken, or was in trouble? The thought of her going through all this effort only for the Companions to wander blindly to their deaths sat heavily in her stomach. 

She turned, looking around for anything she could use as a way to communicate to them that she was fine, that she chose this, and that they should not follow. She found a stick on the ground, and for a moment she contemplated trying to carve her message into the dirt of the ground when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. 

Mera nearly jumped out of her skin as she whipped her head around, eyes wide and hand going to her sword only to find Vilkas a mere foot away, staring her hard in the eyes. She cursed under her breath, putting her hand on her heart as she leaned against the stone and exhaled. “Fuck, you scared me,” she hissed under her breath. 

Vilkas didn’t say anything. He looked at her, completely dressed with her pack at her back, and she knew she was caught. Mera opened her mouth, ready to explain it away, but Vilkas spoke before she could. 

“You’re leaving.” He didn’t ask, he stated, and Mera didn’t have it in her to lie. 

“Yes,” she said as she lowered her eyes. She couldn’t stomach to see whatever look he had on his face. 

“Why, Mera?” 

Mera opened her mouth, then she closed it, considering before she spoke. Looking back at his face, she saw, hurt, confusion, and finely veiled anger in his face. His eyes spoke volumes.  _ We were willing to follow you to the end _ they seemed to say. 

“Hircine will kill them,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as she did. She felt panic rise in her chest and she shoved it down deep inside her, muffling it before it could bubble out. “I saw it, Vilkas. I… he’ll punish you. For your defiance. For trying to cure yourselves. For protecting me. We’re not going to make it to Ysgramor’s tomb. I know it.” 

Understanding. Fear.  They joined the rest of the mix in his stormy expression and it felt like something had reached inside of her and was pulling her stomach into two. 

“You don’t…” he started but she shook her head. 

“I was shown it. Your death. Farkas. Aela. Gods, Vilkas…” she shook her head, tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t ask you to die with me.” 

“Was it a daedra?” he asked, and she was taken off guard by his question. 

“What?”

“Was it a daedra who showed it to you?” His jaw was firmly pressed, mouth held in a thin line. Mera didn’t want to answer. She closed her eyes tightly together and bit down on her tongue. 

“Vilkas, I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” she finally said, voice quivering in the slightest. “Divines know I’ve made more than my share. But I won’t let this be one of them. I won’t kill you,” she lifted her eyes back to his, and forced herself to hold the contact. She straightened up, squared her shoulders and puffed her chest. “You need to be Harbinger now, Vilkas.” 

“Mera-”

“No, listen to me. I don’t think I’m going to make it out of this, and if I do, I won’t be fit for this anymore. I can’t. You need to lead the Companions, now.” She looked from him to the still, sleeping figured further in the room. Her voice was nearly a sob when she said it. “You need to keep them safe, because I can’t. Not anymore.” 

Vilkas watched her, and she could feel his eyes burn straight into her soul. She felt bare before him, and she wanted to cover herself, to hide from the judgment he was passing. Then, he surprised her by saying, “Okay.” 

She snapped her head back up to him, unable to hide the redness in her eyes or the wet streaks that stained her cheeks. Relief washed over her and she nearly sobbed. “Thank you, Vilkas,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t trust this to anyone but you.” 

“I'll take care of them,” he assured her. 

Wiping her eye with the back of her hand, she tried to laugh, “Don't let Farkas butcher my story, alright? You know he always gets the details wrong.” 

She regretted the pass at a lighthearted request at the sight of Vilkas’ sad expression. “Come back, Mera.” 

She frowned and shook her head. “You know I can't promise…” 

“Well consider it an order from your Harbinger.” 

Mera managed a laugh at that. “Harbinger's don't give orders, ass.”

“No, not normally, but I think Kodlak would approve of this exception.” There was a sad smile on his face. “Try. That's all I ask.” 

After a long moment, Mera conceded. “Okay.” 

She looked him over, for a long moment, until a loud crack of thunder drew her attention outside, to where she assumed it was still storming. 

Looking back to him, she said, “Don't let them follow me.” 

“I won't.” 

She glanced out towards the mouth of the cave, before back up at him. She didn't think, she just acted. She took his face between her hands and pulled him down, low, until she could press her lips to his forehead. She held him there for a long moment, before hugging him tightly. 

It surprised her when he hugged her back, strong arms wrapping tightly around her middle and holding her close to him. Then, before letting her go, he moved his hands to her face and returned the gesture. 

“Goodbye, Vilkas,” she whispered before pulling apart.

She walked backwards for a moment, not wanting to look away from him until finally she was forced to face the other way and exit the cave. 

It was impossible to see that she was crying in the rain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye Companions :( You'll be missed
> 
> If you didn't notice, I've put a chapter cap on this story. As we speak, I'm working on completing the final chapter. Hircine draws nearer, and the hunt can only go on for so long.... 
> 
> Anyway, once again I am literally begging you for reviews. I've been working really hard on getting this done for ya'll, and I desperately want to know what you think. Kudos are nice, but nothing compares to actually getting to hear how ya'll are reacting to my carefully plotted twists and turns.


	8. Paar Pahlok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mentions of suicidal thoughts

When she left the cave she ran. She ran until her legs hurt, her lungs burned and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might beat out of her chest and then she kept running. Anything to put distance between her and Hircine. Between her and her pack. 

Mera could have sworn that the eyes of beasts were watching her from the darkness. Maybe they were.

It was dawn before she stopped, with pink tinting the twilight from the rising sun. Exhausted, she couldn’t push on any longer, and she collapsed from her own exhaustion into the mudded earth. 

Mera laid still for a long time, eyes closed as she curled in on herself. Maybe she should just let herself die, waste away and become grass for some deer to eat and then shit out some day in the distant future. It would be easier than this, she thought mournfully. Hermaeus Mora all but confirmed her inevitable doom. She would lose to Hircine, and there was no two ways about it. Her time was running out.

But maybe she was fine with that. 

Mera felt like she came into existence the day of that ambush that lead to her being at Helgen. She had no memories before that, no peaceful childhood, no loving family. All of her memories were of fire, of war, and of bloodshed and she was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being some legendary hero, leader of thieves or  _ thur _ of the  _ dov _ . She was tired of being Dragonborn, and she certainly was tired of being a Champion. 

In a brief moment of what felt like clarity, she saw through the mud of her life and she thought to the bottle of poison in her bag. Lotus extract, given to her by Muri when she had killed her bandit of a boyfriend. She hadn’t used it then, deciding to save such a powerful poison for when she really needed it, but an opportunity had never presented itself. 

If Mera felt like she had the strength to move, she would have pulled it out, if only to look at the little bottle. Instead, she pictured it in her mind's eye, allowing herself to go back and dwell in those forbidden ‘what ifs’. It would be too easy. She just had to drink it and keep it down for long enough for it to take effect. Or, she could dip her blade it in and give herself a shallow cut. Simple. Effortless, even. 

No one would ever find out and know she abandoned them, abandoned everything. A wolf or a saber cat would eat her corpse, leaving her a pile of bones. And it would deny Hircine the satisfaction of getting to hunt her soul for himself. If Sanguine and Hermaeus Mora were correct, her soul would go to Aetherius and some higher power there would deal with her. 

She wondered if that was where Alduin went, when she slayed him. In a moment of dark curiosity, she wondered if she would see him there. Perhaps they could have a long chat about the bulshit of prophecy. The thought nearly made her laugh. 

In the haze of her thoughts, she felt herself drifting. She hadn’t slept in a full day and the mud felt like the most comfortable place where she could be. It was dangerous, she knew it was dangerous, just like her thinking was dangerous and still having that poison was dangerous, and not reaching into her bag and throwing it half way across Tamriel was dangerous, but she couldn’t bring herself to care or move. 

That was until she felt the earth shake. Nothing woke her up quite like the tell tale sound of a dragon landing. 

All previous thoughts gone from her mind, she acted on pure instinct as she got to her feet. Being covered in mud was not her ideal state to fight a dragon in, but she'd definitely been in worse situations. Her dragon blood seemed to sing, taking over her pathetic human impulse to  _ give up _ and reinvigorating her with a need to see who dared to come so close to her, and whether they would yield to her _thu'um_. 

Her legs were still tired as she slowly approached the sound, but adrenaline made it possible to keep moving. Strangely, she heard no sounds of fighting like she would have suspected. Normally she only sees dragons this far into the forest landing to pick a fight with wildlife, but she didn't hear anything. In fact, it was suspiciously quiet. 

She could see a small clearing through the trees, and when she came through them, she almost fell over in shock at the sight that greeted her. 

The familiar sight of red scales on a large, hulking body sat hunched over the edge of a small pool of water. Like any other creature on Nirn, the great Odahviing had stopped for a drink. She nearly laughed at the odds of it, running into him in the vast Skyrim wilderness, but then she thought that perhaps the gods were watching her, and this was Akatosh’s will. 

Moving herself out of her crouch, Mera stood tall and walked forward without caring how much noise she made. Odahviing growled, whipping his head around towards her and snapping his jaws, giving her a clear view of the kill he had by his side and the blood on his lips. When he saw her, recognition dawned in his old eyes and this growl turned to a low rumble. 

“ _ Frolaaz zey, Thuri. _ Forgive me,  _ Dovakiin. _ I did not expect to see you here.  _ Drem yol lok. _ ” 

“ _ Drem yol lok, Odahviing _ .” She returned the greeting, approaching him with steady steps. She could hear his steady breathing, a familiar deep sound that she’d grown used to hearing through time spent with Paarthurnax. It surprised her how much the sound settled her restless spirit. “I’m surprised to see you as well.” 

“Hmm, yes.  _ Zu'u hindah stumuv lok _ , I’ve grown fond of the warmer skies of the south, but the snows still do call me,” Mera was pleased to note that she understood more of what he was saying than she had in the past. Ever since the Greybeards had given her the book on Dovahzul, she’d been trying to learn more in her free time. It was slow going, but even the small amount of vocabulary she’d retained helped her to feel like she was keeping pace in the conversation, and that she was less reliant on the dragon’s imperfect translations to her tongue. 

She felt his eyes rake over her body, taking in how much of a mess she’d become and she couldn’t help but feel self conscious. The last time she had seen Odahviing, she had lay dying on top the Throat of the World, and she had him to thank for delivering her safely to the Greybeards. Now again he could see her weakness, and she felt a rush of rage towards her small, fleshy human body for allowing her to even look so haggard in the first place. 

“ _ Hin ahraanne, _ you’ve healed since we last held  _ tinvaak _ , and yet…” 

Mera breathed a humorless laugh. “Perceptive of you to notice my distress. I’m in trouble, but when am I not.” She came to a large rock by the edge of the small lake and she sat beside it, leaning against it as she faced him. She could feel his eyes linger and she sighed. “Well, don’t stop what you were doing on my account, you came here to eat. Eat. But… if you wouldn’t mind… I could use the company.” 

Odahviing seemed to consider her for a moment before he rumbled lowly once again. “ _ Zu'u fen fey _ ,” He didn’t translate for her, and of the words she recognized “I” and “stay”, which was all she really needed to know. Mera closed her eyes. 

When she opened them again, the sun was high in the sky. She groaned, blinking away the pain from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. How had she even fallen asleep like that to begin with? She cursed herself, stumbling to her feet and nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw Odahviing, closer than he had been before, raising his head from the dirt.

The moment she had realized she’d slept, she had expected Odahviing to have left. Finding him still nearby was shocking and… touching, in a way. She was glad he didn’t leave her completely exposed and defenceless. 

Beside him was the carcass of a deer which he had efficiently picked clean while she slept, even going as far as to consume most of the bone, and for a moment she envied his ability to consume raw meat so easily. She’d kill to have a meal of that size.

Mera thought hard before she spoke. “ _ Nox hi, Odahviing.”  _ She thanked him and received an appreciative rumble from the dragon. 

“You’ve been practicing our tongue,” he commented, and she nodded in confirmation. 

She walked over to the edge of the lake and kneeled before it, using the water to rinse the mud off her face and her arms, and splashing it on her armor to remove whatever grime she could. When she was done, she scooted back and came to sit cross legged beside the massive form of the dragon. 

Sanguine, Hircine, Hermaeus Mora, Nocturnal… they made her feel small, weak, stupid and powerless in a way that made her base instincts shudder with discomfort. The  _ dov  _ did not belong beneath anyone. They didn’t serve, they were served. Mera often found herself wondering how different her life would be had she been blessed with the body of a dragon. Her hide would be near impenetrable, and she could take to the skies beside them and lead them like she was born to do. 

Odahviing had been right when she said she would envy their flight. She had wished so desperately that he’d been wrong. 

“Do the Daedric Lords bother dragons?” She asked after a long moment of silence passed between them.

“Hmm. No, the  _ nizah rah _ do not bother us as they do the  _ joor  _ as the  _ dov _ are under the close protection of our  _ Bormah _ . The Divines. Akatosh.” Odahviing explained. While, like the Daedric Lords, dragons made her feel small, she felt more comfortable speaking with them. There were times when she struggled to keep up, but their knowledge didn’t make her feel stupid, just young.  In the end, she was their kin, and that was hard to forget. And perhaps having the ability to smite them completely aided her in that fact. 

“But I’m not under his protection,” there was a note of bitterness in her tone, and Odahviing huffed beside her, smoke escaping from his nose as he did. 

“No. You may have the  _ sil  _ of a  _ dovah _ , but in flesh you are  _ joor _ .” There was an unfamiliar inflection in Odahviing’s voice. The red dragon shifted, moving slightly in place and it dawned on her that he was uncomfortable. 

With a frown heavy on her face, she asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“Tell me,  _ Dovahkiin _ , do the  _ deyra _ trouble you?” When she hesitated and then nodded, he growled lowly, a sound that sent shivers through her. “You would not be the first. The  _ deyra laan suleyk _ . They crave power.  _ Nust yah dov _ . They seek us out to claim it for  _ dov los suleyk _ . We are power. As  _ joor _ your  _ hadrim _ , your mind, is  _ sahlo _ . You are weak to their influence.” 

Weak. She bet Alduin was never called weak to anything. In that moment she hated herself, hated her soft fleshy body and the mind that piloted it for making her this way. Rage welled up inside of her, anger at her inability and at how trapped she truly was. She clenched her fists, wanting to hit something, only to be startled by Odahviing’s voice. 

“I said this about the First of your kind and it is still befitting of the Last,” he started, voice slow as he raised his head to look up to the sky. “ _ Un bormah los munax _ . It was cruel of our father to trap you in the flesh of a _joor_. Your  _ sil  _ is too large for it.” 

Often, dragons taunted her. They laughed at her weakness, or bragged of their strength. Sometimes, they respected her, like in the case of Odahviing and Paarthurnax. But never had she heard true pity lace the tone of a  _ dov _ . 

It made her feel sick. 

Too large. That was how she felt. Often times, especially after a fight with another dragon, she felt like she could burst open with energy, shed her flesh and take a better form. It never happened, though. And she knew it never would.

She couldn’t help but hang on his words, brows furrowing. “...First?” 

“Hmm. Yes, you would not know of him. We did well to erase him from history,” Odahviing faced her again and she saw an old anger in his eyes. “Miraak was his name. He was a priest.  _ Paar. Pahlok _ . He was as arrogant and ambitious as any  _ dovah  _ and he thought himself above Alduin. Unlike you,  _ thuri _ , he could not back his claim.” Odahviing looked through her, unseeing, as if remembering a long forgotten past. “He, too, was tempted by the  _ deyra _ and he fell to them. It was their  _ suleyk  _ that allowed him to get so far in his revolution, but under Alduin we crushed it.” 

“You killed him?” She asked. 

“ _ Geh _ , we did, but not before he killed many  _ dovah _ .” 

Her head spun with this knowledge. Mera had always been referred to as the Last Dragonborn. It wasn’t hard to assume that there were more than her. Tiber Septim, Talos, he had supposedly been Dragonborn, but she couldn’t name any others. Knowing that the First had been around and fought the dragons as she did felt… connecting, and isolating all the same. 

“How?” she asked, before quickly elaborating. “How did he kill so many before you killed him?” 

“He had the help of the  _ deyra _ , and Words of Power as unnatural as your Dragon Rend. Words that have been forgotten.  _ Vodahmin _ . Just as Miraak has been.” 

The conversation left her exhausted. So she wasn’t the first that the Daedric Lords had tried to pull into their hold. She felt a sudden rush of hatred towards them, for meddling in her life as well as the lives of other _ Dovahkiin _ , and a swelling of anger towards Akatosh as well. He had cursed her with this soul without giving her the body to back it up. Odahviing was right. It was  _ munax.  _ Cruel. 

They sat in silence for a long while before she spoke again. “The Daedric Lord Hircine is trying to kill me.” Mera stated it like a fact, and waited to see what Odahviing would say. 

“I see,” was the only response she got for a long while before he continued. “I have offered my services to fight at your side, but I cannot help you in this battle with the Hunter.”

She had suspected that would be the case. Mera nodded, looking out on the water. “I wouldn’t ask you to.” 

“Which is why I follow you willingly.” he explained, and a small, tired smile found its way onto Mera’s face. “I will not fight with you, but I can feel your exhaustion.  _ Praan, Dovahkiin _ . I will watch you, for now, and wake you when the sun is low.” 

It was a lot of trust to put in a dragon, but Mera trusted him. She pulled herself to her feet on shaking legs and looked around for a suitable place to rest, eyes coming to a shaded place nearby the bulk of Odahviing’s body. Before going there she approached his head, and when she got close enough she placed a gentle hand on his snout. The terror of the skies pressed into her hand and exhaled smoke. 

“Thank you,” she said softly before pulling apart. She found a softer, dryer place and laid herself down, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

“Vilkas, how could you let this happen! Farkas wake up!” Aela shouted, storming around to get her gear together while Vilkas stood still. His brother startled awake, eyes wide as Aela tossed him his bracers. 

“What’s happened? Where’s Mera?” 

“Vilkas let her go. We need to get moving  _ now _ if we want to catch her,” Aela ordered and Farkas scrambled to his feet, sad eyes looking directly into Vilkas’ soul. “Come on, she couldn’t have gotten far. We-” 

“We aren’t going after her.”

Aela turned to face him so quickly it was a blur. “What did you say,  _ brother _ ?” 

“You heard me. We aren’t going. We’re going to wait until morning, and then we’re going back to Jorrvaskr.” He kept his voice calm, collected and cool despite the fire in Aela’s voice. 

“Have you lost your mind? Hircine could be on her at this very second and you-” 

“I know, Aela. And Mera knows that too. She told me -”

“What?” The woman approached him quickly, invading his space. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it. “What did she tell you.” 

“If Hircine realizes we’ve turned on him, he’ll kill us if only to make a point. Even if we managed to cure ourselves, he would still have you, Aela. You to torture for eternity. And he has Skjor. What games do you think Hircine will play when he realizes he already has something to hold over us?” He said each word carefully, trying to keep the anger from his tone. It was hard, but he had to try. Kodlak had thought he was to firey to be Harbinger. He’d have to prove him wrong. 

“So you let her leave for the sake of your own soul?” Aela accused, though he could see she was shaken. 

“No, I let her leave for the sake of yours, you and my brother both. Mera said she saw us all die at Hircine’s hands, and she trusted me to keep that from happening.” 

Farkas looked lost completely by his words. Vilkas knew his brother well enough to see each emotion as it passed through his face. Hurt, fear, sadness. They weren’t good looks on him, and Vilkas tore his eyes away, instead turning back to Aela who looked dumbfounded. 

“You accepted her offer of Harbinger, didn’t you.” 

Vilkas squared his jaw before he nodded. “Aye, I did.” 

Aela exhaled a long breath, and he watched some of the anger leave her, leaving a sadness in its place that Vilkas didn’t like to see. It reminded him too much of when Skjor died. “I don’t like this.” She said after a long moment. 

With a frown on his face, Vilkas couldn’t help but agree. “Neither do I.”

* * *

 

Hidden away in her castle in Evergloam, Lady Nocturnal paced back and forth through her throne room, a nasty look on her face as her cloak bellowed behind her. Reports of a strange daedra entering her realm had reached her ears, and sources claim that it was one of Sanguine’s. A messenger from the Myriad Realms couldn’t mean anything good for her even if it was better for their overall cause. 

A large, burly daedra entered the room and approached her. She threw herself into her throne and watched with wide eyes as he came close enough for her to reach. Then, he went into a bag at his side and removed a scroll. “My Lord bids you read this immediately. An update on the cause.”

Nocturnal leveled a solid scowl at the creature, but he didn’t seem to see her. With a snarl, she snatched the scroll from him, and the second it was in her possession he vanished before her very eyes. How dramatic. 

With a flourish of her hands she unrolled the scroll, letting her violet eyes trail over the message scrawled there. It was short and simple, but did nothing to lessen her frown. 

_ Hermaeus has made contact. Vaermina and I have a plan to start countermeasures against his influence. Don’t get your feathers in a twist, Uncle Sanguine’s got this taken care of. _

In a fit of annoyance she threw the letter to the side, gritting her teeth together as she stood and started pacing once more. Damn that Sanguine, and damn Vaermina for helping him. The two of them were trouble, and she regretted ever going to him for help but Mephala and Vaermina had insisted. 

She knew that Sanguine would try to bring Mera to the Myriad Realms, and she also knew that Mera would be tempted by that offer, especially if what Sanguine said about him bedding her was true. Once a mortal accepted Sanguine in, it was very hard to deny him. 

Nocturnal was not going to let that happen. She swore it. 

But how? With a huff, she threw herself back into her seat, leaning her face in her hand as she thought. From up high, one of her birds cawed and flew down, landing on the arm of her chair and blinking at her. Absently, she stroked her hand over its feathers. 

Originally she had planned to tempt her into Evergloam using the Nightingales. She knew Mera played with the man, Brynjolf, and that she held affection for him. Seeing as Nocturnal held his soul, it made sense that Mera might want to go someplace where she could keep her lover close. It’d be easy enough to exert her claim on his soul early and bring him to Evergloam, which would give the Dragonborn plenty incentive, but that plan was shot the second Sanguine got involved. 

Sanguine, with his ability to twist his way inside a mortal’s mind. By the time he was through with her Nightingale, poor Mera wouldn’t even remember Brynjolf’s name, let alone find him a compelling reason to come to her Lady’s side. 

Besides, Nocturnal didn’t wish to kill two of her birds with one stone, leaving her once more with only Karliah to serve her in Mundus. She had no use for two lame birds tucked away in Oblivion; she wanted them both on Nirn, where they could spread her influence.

So that brought her back to the how. 

Nocturnal growled in frustration. Of course this couldn’t be easy. In order to get both Hircine and Sanguine off the Dragonborn’s tail she was going to have to trick them, that much was clear, but the only way that Hircine would stop his hunt is if he thought she was… 

Dead. Nocturnal’s eyes widened as she sat up in her throne, startling her bird enough that it flapped its wings at her sudden motion. A wicked grin pulled on her lips as she stood, cloak wrapping around her as she strode with quick steps out of the room. She had to make a trip to Mundus, and fast. She had Nightingales to see and a plan to hatch. 

She was going to get the Dragonborn, no matter what it took to keep her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, typically I don't translate my dovahzul because I try and write as if you're in the game, and the dragon's translate for you when you're meant to understand. However, I want to point out that Odahviing calls the daedra "nizah rah" which translates roughly to false gods. 
> 
> I know I said the companions were gone but I couldn't resist seeing them off properly :)
> 
> ANYWAY Thanks for reading! I know this took longer than normal, but I'm coming to a close and I want to make sure everything is perfect! Just be aware, I don't intend to post the next chapter until I've finished the story in it's completion. I'm still working out the details for the exact ending, so that might take a bit.
> 
> As always, please give me feedback! I want to know how I'm doing so I can continue to keep ya'll happy and write good stories. COMMENT PLEASE
> 
> Also, I'm posting a survey asking for other story ideas :) What do you want to see me write for Mera? Here's the link!  
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeubXlTKum_ZMq5eDou-WJh8gZ9KgRfZsfARJleG8Vry9QGqQ/viewform?usp=sf_link  
> I make no promises that I'll actually do anything in there, but I'd love to hear what you want for a change.


	9. Shadows Guide You

Tentacles. There are tentacles everywhere. Grabbing, pulling, stretching. She thinks they might rip her apart. She screams, gods does she scream until her voice breaks and her throat bleeds, but nothing comes to save her. 

A tentacle, green and sickly, rises up and plunges towards her, piercing her stomach until it comes out the other side. 

She's never known such pain. 

She hears something, and this time she can place the sound immediately. With a voice like liquid ebony, Hermaeus Mora speaks from everywhere. 

“You…  are  _ mine _ .” 

Its then that she sees him, blinking through the fog, dripping with slime and invading her space. That huge eye of his, it stares her down, watching her expressions of agony with mild amusement. 

Welcome to eternity. 

And then, with a brief look of confusion, Hermaeus Mora shrieks out, releasing her from his tendrils and letting her fall, fall and fall into nothing while he withers, cursing in a language she could never understand. She thinks she’ll fall forever, but she doesn’t. She’s caught and caressed by an unparalleled softness. 

She sinks into it, and the hole in her flesh no longer burns. From it, a flower blooms and from her blood comes the beauty of a rose. 

_ Fus….  _ **_ro_ ** _! _

Mera woke with a start as her body rolled into the icy water. She swallowed half a mouth full in her struggle, splashing wildly as she got to her feet. The ground shook as Odahviing moved, walking closer to the water, a growl low in his throat as he looked at her. With wide eyes she stood stock still with the water up to her ankles, not moving even to breathe as he looked her over like she was a threat. 

Then, the dragon relaxed and she breathed again. 

“I sensed the  _ deyra  _ in you while you slept. When you would not wake, I used my  _ thu’um _ to put you in the water,” the winged hunter explained.

“Vaermina…?” she questioned, more so speaking to herself than to him. Her dream was fuzzy at best, but she remembered the tendrils, and the flowers. It felt more prophetic than nightmarish. Hermaeus Mora hurt her, but the flowers… the roses… 

Sanguine. 

It hurt to try and think to hard on it, and she shook her head. “Thank you for waking me, Odahviing.” 

He didn’t say anything to that, instead looking out on the forest. “The  _ nizah rah,  _ the  _ deyra _ have a strong hold on you,  _ Dovahkiin _ . You may be  _ thuri _  but you are  _ goraan _ , young. Do not let them keep you.” 

Keep you. Mera shuddered at the thought. That’s what the Lords were trying to do, keep her. Mera didn’t want to be kept, not by Hermaeus Mora or Hircine or Sanguine or Nocturnal. She wasn’t a trophy, she was a  _ dragon _ . 

“I can feel Hircine draw near. I must leave you,  _ Dovahkiin _ . Should you die, I suspect there will be stories told of you for centuries to come.” 

Coming from Odahviing she knew that was a compliment, but hearing him so bluntly refer to her imminent death did nothing to calm her rising nerves. She bowed her head to him, and he did the same, moving it low and near the ground, before in one forceful push of his wings he was being lifted up off the ground and far, far up into the sky. Green and ugly, she felt envy rear its head deep inside of her. But there was no time for that, now. 

Odahviing had been clear. Hircine was still coming, and he was closer than ever. 

* * *

 

“Vaermina darling you are an absolute  _ artisan _ of terror. Has anyone ever told you that?” Sanguine was smug, walking arm and arm with Vaermina through her fortress in Quagmire. He hated Quagmire. It was ugly and all together an unpleasant place to be but Vaermina had insisted that if his plan was going to work, they had to be in her realm to do it. So there they were. 

“Hmm, yes I’ve heard that before. And you, Sanguine, why you know how to turn nightmares into dreams, don’t you? Not normally something I appreciate but given the circumstances…” Vaermina looked at him and he couldn’t help but grin. 

“What can I say? I’m rather dreamy.” 

“Quiet. Now what? We’ve planted the terror, and you’ve planted your solution. Will you approach her?” 

Sanguine smirked at the thought. Soon, he’d return to Mundus to bring the little mortal home, but there was still Hircine to deal with, and that put a significant downer on his glow. “I have a plan I’ve been working on. We must handle these things delicately, my dear. I’ll see sweet Mera soon enough.” 

 

* * *

 

His hounds grew impatient. Hungry. He knew they craved blood. Hircine watched from atop a bolder as they fought over the corpse of a fox that had gotten in their way. He wanted them hungry, vicious and craving blood, but he would not stop his hunters from reveling in their prey. 

Bashing the blunt end of his speer on the stone he caught their attention and each beast raised its head to look at it’s master. “ _ Go _ !” He barked the command, and they abandoned the half eaten carcass in the dirt before bounding forward once more. 

Lord Hircine kept up effortlessly, his legs carrying him at the speed of the wolves until they both stopped, pacing and circling around the mouth of a cave. The trail had been faint, fading from the outside but in there her scent was strong, mingling with that of her traveling companions. A fire pit, cold and charred sat inside, and his wolves found a bedroll, abandoned and left behind. 

He could taste the Dragonborn’s scent in the air. It was thick on his tongue as he called to his hounds, gesturing out of the cave and back into the Skyrim wilderness. 

They were getting close, he could feel it. The dragon’s days were numbered.

 

* * *

 

When Nocturnal called, they were together in Nightingale Hall. Brynjolf wasn’t quite sure what would have happened if they hadn’t been, and he was beyond grateful for Karliah’s presence when a daedra crawled from the shadows, grabbed them both and retreated with them, pulling them into the darkness. 

It happened in an instant. He inhaled in Rift, and by the time he let his breath out he was blinking before some cave on the other side of Skyrim, someplace he had never been.

“The Twilight Sepulcher,” Karliah provided, and vaguely he recalled the skeleton key, and how they’d sent Mera to return it. Brynjolf had never made any sort of pilgrimage to visit the temple for himself; he never had the time to travel all the way to Falkreath, especially not after Mera had started taking more and more time away from the Guild, dealing with her Dragonborn business. Whatever long lost curiosity he held seemed to spark back to life, right alongside the dread that built in the pit of his stomach. 

“I don’t like this,” Brynjolf murmured for Karliah’s ears only, and as she lead the way to the entrance, he saw her nod. 

“Nocturnal has called us. We’d be foolish not to answer.” 

Brynjolf didn’t respond, he didn’t feel the need to, but as they approached the purple veil that opened only for them, he could vaguely feel his lunch rise back up to great him. He wouldn’t vomit - even though he wasn't a warrior he was no milkdrinker - but his nerves were fried as they stepped inside. 

Transported, he stepped into a dark room where a portal swirled in the middle and from it sprouted a woman. Beautiful. Terrible. Powerful. She looked down at them like they were children. To her, he supposed they were. Two large black ravens perched on her arm and shoulder. Her skin was pale, exposed and overwhelming to see. This time, he didn’t hesitate before taking a knee before her in perfect unison with Karliah.

He surprised himself by thinking of Mera. Brynjolf doubted she would kneel. 

“Your time is near, my Nightingales,” Her voice was the same as it’d been, but for some reason it sounded different, coming from lips rather than a ball of smoke and flame. 

“What would you have us do?” Karliah asked at the same time Brynjolf spoke.

“You have a plan?” He looked up at her, at the fire that rested behind her eyes. 

“Time is short. Hircine’s and his mutts are close, and things have gotten more complicated.”

“How?” Brynjolf found himself speaking again, though his bravado faded at her withering look. 

“Others have turned their eyes on the Dragonborn. Keeping her from Hircine won’t be enough. This is a larger threat than just one dead Nightingale. Oblivion and Mundus lay in the balance,” She explained, and Brynjolf’s head spun. How could he be expected to have any influence over a problem this large? “Hermaeus Mora plans to steal her from under our noses and keep her as a pet, abiet a powerful one, and now I have Sanguine to worry about as well.”

“How can we assist, my Lady?” Karliah spoke, trying to steer the conversation back into a more manageable direction.

The sly, amused smile that pulled onto Nocturnal's face did nothing to settle his nerves. “It’s simple. No one can claim the Dragonborn if she’s already dead.” 

Beside him, he could hear Karliah’s sharp inhale. Brynjolf felt cold, colder than he was used to feeling as a Nord. Kill Mera? He wouldn’t. He  _ couldn’t _ . Even if he wanted to hurt Mera, did Nocturnal expect them to be able to kill the Dragonborn? Emerald eyes blown wide open, he fixed his gaze down at the ground, unable to face the Daedric Lord before him. How would Nocturnal deal with defiance? 

“Your Grace I-”

“Save it, Karliah,” Nocturnal silenced her with a wave of her hand. “Your willingness to defy me has been noted, thought I can appreciate that it’s born out of loyalty. Regardless, my will must be carried out by you. But fret not, Brynjolf,” he tensed as she targeted him directly, “You will not be killing Mera.” 

She reached into nothing and manifested a vial. It was small, fitted in her delicate looking hand. He watched her reach out with one hand until Karliah carefully took it. 

“You will not be killing the Dragonborn,” Nocturnal repeated, “but everyone will think you did.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes were fixed on Karliah as she turned the vial over in her hand. Her eyes went wide, mouth hanging over slightly as she ventured to speak. “My Lady, is this…?” 

“Poison, yes. One I’m sure you’re quite familiar with. One that Mera is familiar with as well, I’d venture. I think you’ll find there’s more than enough for one arrow in there, but don’t be frivolous with it. You will use these to do it,” She continued as she manifested arrows from her cloak. Dark, with a hint of red in the rip. Daedric, he was sure. 

Karliah closed her fist around the vial and put it quickly in a pocket on her belt. Brynjolf was thoroughly lost. As if she sensed it, Nocturnal turned her gaze to him. 

“The poison slows the heart rate. The blood flow. You’re going to use it to hit my stray Nightingale and convince those that pursue her that she’s been killed. Use an arrow, aim from the shadows. Aim for the heart, but don’t hit it. They’ll need to think she’s dead for long enough for them to distract themselves and for me to retrieve her.”

Poison her, as if that was better. He hated to admit it, but the plan made sense. It did nothing to relieve him, but he understood it. “How will we find her? I doubt the lass is anywhere nearby, and if Hircine is close…” 

Nocturnal waved a hand as if his concerns were inconsequential. “Hircine prefers to hunt his prey rather than go to them directly. It’s a game for the brute, and fortunate for us. I will open a portal here which will lead you to where she is running. You’ll follow her - do not let her see you - and when the time comes you’ll strike.” 

“When should we strike, my Lady?” Karliah asked.

“That is the question, isn’t it? I want an audience. Hitting her during a fight with Hircine would not be wise… but I anticipate there’ll be an opportunity opened to you by one of the other Lords. Should you see her with Sanguine, Hermaeus Mora or any other damned Daedric Prince, act quickly. But make sure it's believable. They need to think she's dead. My shadows will conceal you from their wrath,” Nocturnal looked bored. She  _ sounded _ bored, but Brynjolf had an inkling that it was a cleverly created veil to disguise her stress. It seemed they all had a lot to lose, and he could sympathize. 

“Are we leaving now?” He asked, and Nocturnal looked pleased. 

“Eager to get started? Good. Yes, you’re leaving now. Keep your hoods up, and let my shadows guide you. Don’t lose sight of her. You have one shot at preserving this trinity. Don’t miss it.” 

Nocturnal lifted her one arm up, blocking herself with the drapings of her robe. Her birds took to the air, flying around her, cawing and creating a whirlwind of feathers. By the time they fell to the ground, Nocturnal was gone, and in her place hung a portal, suspended in the air. Brynjolf suspected that stepping through it would take them to wherever it was Mera was hiding.

He turned to Karliah, who was pulling her hood up and over her eyes. He did the same, masking himself, feeling the shadows curl around him.  “I was going to use this poison on Mercer. I used it on Mera instead, once. When he tried to kill her. The wound would have killed her if not for this,” she held the little bottle up for him to see, “Nocturnal is right to have us use it. It’ll work, Brynjolf.”

“It better, or we’re all in trouble,” he spoke lowly, shaking his head. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” 

Karliah moved to step forward but Brynjolf stopped her. If he was honest, he was scared, scared to see what they would find on the other side, but he wanted to go through first. He needed to, if he wanted to do right by Mera. It’s what she would have done, were she there in his place.

He thought of the fact that he would see her, when he stepped inside. He couldn’t speak with her, but Brynjolf would get to see her after all the time spent apart. She’d been on the run for how long, he could only imagine how it’d worn her down. 

He wasn’t exactly sure he was eager to see how it’d affected her. 

Without letting himself think for a moment longer, Brynjolf stepped into the void.

 

* * *

 

 

Mera knew she was being watched. She could feel it, eyes on her constantly, hidden in the forest around her. A fox that ran by her feet turned its head to follow her as it moved. The yellow eyes of a wolf bore through her from a bush, but never jumped out to attack. A stag didn’t run when it’s head snapped up after she stepped on a twig, rather it watched her, unmoving, unfazed by her presence. 

She was sure it was Hircine. There was no other way to explain it. 

This near to Windhelm, snow dusted over her where she sat in the thicket, trying to hide from the world. She just needed to rest, only for a moment. The sun had set long ago, and it was the first time she came to rest since her talk with Odahviing, but she found that sitting still only allowed the cold to seep into her bones; she couldn’t light a fire and risk giving her position away with the smoke, but she needed to rest. If Hircine was near, she needed to be strong enough to face him, strong enough to at least put up a fight. 

She asked herself, not for the first time that day, why she wanted to bother fighting. Hircine wanted her to fight, she knew that. He wanted a challenge, not for her to lay down and die, but seeing Odahviing, hearing his  _ thu’um _ and speaking with him again, had awoken that dragon’s stubbornness and will to survive and  _ win _ . 

A howl in the night had her flinching, looking left and right to try and see if anything had gotten closer to her. Rest time was over. Bones aching, she forced herself back to her feet. Maybe, maybe, if she could reach Windhelm she could find sanctuary in the city. Perhaps hiding in the Temple of Talos would deter Hircine from his hunt. It felt cowardly to hide, but maybe she could rest there, gain enough strength, and win. 

She wasn’t ready to die. 

*

Watching Mera move was painful. Normally, the woman he’d come to know so well was confident and deadly, and each step she took was a reminder of that. Even sneaking, she often reminded him of a saber cat, lying in ambush. But the woman Brynjolf watched from the shadows was no predator, if anything, she was prey. 

Every few steps had her looking over her shoulder and going was slow. He could tell by the slump in her shoulders that she was exhausted even from as far as they were. Several yards away, he and Karliah kept stride, never letting her out of their sight. They clung to the shadows, blending effortlessly into the dark of the night. Even out of her Nightingale armor, the shadows seemed to hug at Mera lazily as she continued on her path. If he hadn’t known she was an expert sneak, though, he would have thought her a blundering hunter, stepping on several loud twigs and tripping over her feet. The lass was getting sloppy, which spoke volumes to just how tired she was. 

But then, suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. Mera’s hand went to her sword and she spun, pulling it out and looking directly at him. Beside him Karliah hissed, and he got down low, watching her through the branches of a bush as she readied herself for a fight. For one tense moment, he held his breath. 

*

Mera could have sworn she heard something. It came from a distance, just up on a hill, and she turned to face it, ready for a fight. She doubted Hircine would approach her so silently, but she needed to be ready. 

She held her breath as she waited for whatever it was stalking her to rear its ugly head, but it never did. Paranoia. She was starting to let it get the better of her. She shook her entire body, trying to shake the feeling of eyes on her, and sheathing her blade she pushed on. 

*

Brynjolf finally felt like he could breathe again when Mera started to push forward. She seemed shaken awake by their near encounter, almost as much as he had been, and her steps were quicker now as she continued down her path. He found himself wondering where exactly they were - north for sure if the cold and falling snow were anything to go by - and where the lass was going, or even if she had a plan. 

He had to shake his head to keep him from getting lost in his thought. Instead, he focused on his steps, placing his feet between twigs and avoiding dried leaves. The ground was speckled white with a light dusting of snow from where it made it to the ground between the trees, and luckily it was wet enough that it muffled his steps rather than creating a crunch under his feet. 

Brynjolf let Karliah lead him down a silent path, trusting her not to lead them astray. Watching her back had his eyes fixed on her bow. When the time came, Karliah would fire the arrow, there was no question about it. Brynjolf certainly didn’t trust his accuracy with a bow to hit near enough Mera’s heart for efficiency, but far enough not to kill her. Karliah had done this once before, she could do it again. 

Without warning, Karliah paused in front of him, throwing up her hand to silently communicate to him that they needed to stop. A quick glance showed him Mera was slowing to, body tense and eyes to the sky . 

It came from above. Screaming- no. It wasn't screaming, but  _ cawing.  _ The loud, insistent crow of ravens filled the air and from the trees, over their head they flew, scattering a dark rain of feathers over him, Karliah, and eventually Mera. Mera unsheathed her sword, turning in place as she watched the birds above her, a herald of some unseen horror. 

And that's when he heard it, loud and clear and in his very bones. A howl in the wind. And then another. Closer. Closer. 

Karliah whipped around, facing him and he couldn't see her face, not through the mask but he knew what her eyes would say if he could. Brynjolf felt it as the barking encroached on them, felt Karliah reach out and grip his wrist tightly. To keep him from running for the hills or running for Mera, he wasn't sure which.

He wanted to say something to her, say anything at all, but then Mera screamed and his head jerked to look towards her once more, eyes wide and terrified. But it wasn't pained, not like he expected, but rather enraged. She banged her fist against her chest, head tilted back as she howled right on back, shouting one name directly to the heavens. A challenge. 

“ _ Hircine _ !”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we hit the beginning of the end. 
> 
> This chapter was really difficult to write. I hope ya'll are as intrigued as I am over Nocturnal's plan. And I'm very excited to have Brynjolf there for the ending. It's about time he gets to see what Mera really looks like in a fight where she isn't holding back ;)
> 
> Alright folks, this is it! Next chapter is the end! Well, sort of. There will be one more additional chapter after the last. I realized the ending needed a bit.... more, so you're getting it. 
> 
> As always, please please please give me feed back. I almost cry whenever I get comments from excitement. Also, I've opened a skyrim blog for ya'll to follow me on if you're interested. I'll post about my head canons, Mera, my thought on the game as well as just reblog Skyrim stuff. Find me here! https://paar-pahlok.tumblr.com/ I may even start taking requests.


	10. Well Met, Hunter

Like raining midnight, black feathers fell around her in a cyclone, cloaking Mera temporarily in their darkness. She spun in the center, the eye of the storm, eyes wide and senses buzzing as she unsheathed both of her swords. Exhaling caused a cloud to form before her, like smoke spilling from Odahviing’s nose.

She could hear the ravens shriek.

In her chest her heart thudded painfully as if it was trying to get out, and something deep inside her very soul growled, low and feral. And then she heard the howl.

It was high, melodic and it resonated in her very bones before it was quickly followed by another. Closer this time. Closer. From the other side of a hill, deep in the trees, came barking, snarling, vicious and bloodthirsty.

Fear seized her like a vice and for a moment, everything stopped.

And then she screamed.

She screamed out her terror, her exhaustion, her nerves and her rage. She knew that this was coming, she’d known it for days now and she wasn’t ready to face it, not truly. But she was tired of running.

This ended tonight.

She faced the direction she heard the hounds howl, hunching her shoulders as she braced herself. Vaguely, her mind went to the dragons, how before she’d killed Alduin they all seemed to want to test her. They would swoop low to the ground, their wings causing a harsh wind to nearly knock her down as they shouted their challenge in a language she couldn’t understand. Maybe that was why Mera behaved the way she did in that moment. She lifted her arm and, careful of her sword, banged her fist firmly on her chest, the noise it created sounding like thunder in the unnatural silence of the forest. Head thrown back and feet planted firmly in the ground, she shouted towards the sky.

“ _Hircine_!”

Her voice cracked like thunder in the night, shaking the ground beneath her feet in the way she’d grown accustomed to when she shouted. When she used her _thu’um_.

She was answered with a laugh that seemed to infect everything around her, spreading like a weed and invading her very being. She tried her best not to shudder as, in a blink, Hircine appeared before her, hounds at his heels a good few yards away.

There he stood, with one hand on his hip, the other on his spear which was planted firmly in the ground, point up. He looked all like the hunter who was admiring a fresh kill, and she found herself wishing he would at least let her see his face, before she died.

“Well met, hunter!” Hircine’s voice boomed, and he sounded closer to her than he really was. “I’ll admit, Champion, that I expected more of a chase from a dragon, but this is what I get for settling for one without wings.”

The dig hit home, clenching at her chest. It wasn't fair that the whole world seemed so keen to remind her that she was only a dragon in spirit, and that she didn't have the flesh to back it up. Still, she bared her teeth like a beast, leaning her body forward and holding her swords out at her side. “I’ve grown tired of running, Hircine. This has to end.”

“I agree. There is no sense drawing it out. A good hunter takes their mark out with a swift arrow through the eye; cruelty is not a necessity,” Hircine tilted his head, looking like a curious animal as he took a few steps closer to her. “But you are no simple prey animal, Dragonborn. You, with the soul of a dragon, can fight back.” Mera looked straight ahead, straight into the eyes of a god, and nodded stiffly, letting Hircine know that she understood her place in all this. “Before we battle, Dragonborn, you must pay your penance. You accepted my gift and then denied the payment due, and attempted to shed the beast blood as if it is some simple armor you can adorn. For that you must be punished.”

Hircine reached out with one hand, palm facing towards her. He twisted his arm, gripping the air and she felt as if something had seized her very heart. And then he pulled. The motion was rough, jarring, and she felt her very being be torn in two as her blood ran cold.

Mera fell to her knees, a scream ripping out of her throat echoing through the sky as from her chest sprung a wolf, huge and terrifying and spectral. Kodlak didn’t hurt this badly, or maybe he was just better at hiding it.

The beast before her howled, and braced itself, snarling at Hircine with it’s back turned towards her. She wondered if it knew who she was, who he was, or if it was mindless, attacking whatever it saw before it. It took two leaping strides forward before lunging into the air and throwing itself at Hircine.

With all the skill Mera suspected he had, Hircine spun his staff effortlessly in one hand. It was artful, the way he moved, and by the time the beast had gotten close enough, he had his weapon grasped in two hands. He lunged forward with it, pointing towards her and speaking in a language she couldn’t understand. The wolf abruptly twisted it’s head, curling it’s body so it could face its former master, and baring its teeth it snarled at Mera, stepping backwards and closer to Hircine.

“You wanted so badly to be free of my gift, Dragonborn, so be it! Face your beast, kill it before I kill you,” with a bark, he spoke in his strange tongue once more, commanding the beast, and before Mera could even get to her feet it was lunging toward her.

“ _Feim zii gron_!” She managed to shout before it could land it’s bite, and the wolf passed right through her ethereal spirit. It landed hard on the ground behind her, letting out a startled sound as it gathered itself. Using her imperviousness, she leapt to her feet, swords at the ready for the moment her shout wore out.

She took advantage of the rare moment of invulnerability to pose, swords extended at either side while looking Hircine directly in the eye. She wanted to remind him that she wasn’t just any mortal. That she had a power only the Divines could give. Just as the strength of her shout faded, she turned on her heel and swiped mercilessly at her beast. It yelped as she caught it in the side, and even though she couldn’t see it, she wished the specter would bleed.

They circled each other, the movements slow, and she felt like she knew the beast. Mera knew each step it would take before it did, knew what to expect when it bared its teeth at her and snarled. For so long they were one body, one mind in the same shared blood. She suspected it knew her, too. But when it lunged, she was the one with the upper hand as she successfully dodged to the side.

The wolf recovered more quickly than she anticipated, and before she could fully ready her weapon for another strike, it was jumping up again, and it was all she could do to block with both her arms crossed over the vulnerable flesh of her neck. Teeth sunk into her armor, pressing hard into her skin and just breaking through. Gritting her teeth, Mera bit back the pained sound that threatened to fall from her lips and instead she used her free arm to bring up a blade and stab into the gut of the wolf.

The beast wailed, releasing her arm and falling to the ground and with a battle cry that resonated from deep inside her, she lunged forward and drove both her blades into its skull. It cried out again and the apparition flickered, falling dead before her before vanishing into nothing.

Too easy.

Mera stood at her full height and turned until she faced Hircine once more. At his heels, both beasts stood ready and snarling in her direction.

“Well done, Dragonborn. Perhaps this will provide to be some sort of challenge after all,” Hircine commented and Mera felt herself boil.

The Prince was going to kill her, divine intervention pending, and she’d accepted that fact. But what she couldn’t accept was his blatant disrespect and his backhanded compliments. Her pride swelled in her chest, and she took several smooth, long strides towards him, ignoring the pain in her arm and the burn in her limbs from exhaustion as she did.

“Did you expect less from the slayer of Alduin?” She grit out her words.

The Prince of the Hunt tilted his head like a curious dog and she wished, not for the first time, that she could see his face. She wanted to know what he was thinking. The other Lords she had met were so expressive, but he was just a mask. Finally, he spoke, amusement lacing through his voice. “No, I suppose not. No matter, your time has come now, Dragonborn. There’s no use for us to evade it any longer.”

“Without your beast in me, your claim is weaker,” she informed as Hircine readied himself, taking pose and moving in slow, calculated steps that she matched, circling the space between them.

“Ha! This is no longer about that. Your death will send a message to the other Lords, yes, but you are still a prize for my wall. Let them battle for your soul if they wish. I’ve satisfied my need for a hunt.”

“Still, I can’t imagine this will bode well for you once other catch wind,” she wanted to keep him talking. There was little that could be done to avoid the battle now, she knew that, but perhaps she still had a chance… “Nocturnal, Sanguine, Hermaeus Mor-”

“You’re claimed by Hermaeus!?” Hircine interrupted, rage so clear in his voice that it startled her into silence. “No! You must fall to my spear. Prepare to die, Dragonborn!”

Mera didn’t get the chance to try and understand his sudden rush of anger because Hircine twirled his spear, braced his legs into the ground before pushing forward, rushing her with inhuman speed.

And just like that, the fight began.

As he rushed her, Mera knew instinctively what she needed and she opened her mouth and summed her strength as she let her _thu’um_ rip from her throat. “ _Fus… ro_ **_dah_ **!”

In the beginning, when she would use Unrelenting Force, the strength of it recoiled against her and would often push her feet backwards in the dirt. With time and training she grew strong and her body stood fixed as a mountain as she sent her full strength at the encroaching god.

Hircine shifted, attempting to fully doge the _thu’um_ but it caught him in the side, forcing him skidding backwards and twisting to counter it. Mortals completely collapsed when hit with the blunt of it, but Hircine wasn’t mortal.

Her throat still burned from the _thu’um_ by the time he completely recovered, and he spun his spear, bringing the blunt end to hit her hard in the side below her ribs. She yelled out her pain, head thrown back as she resisted the urge to bring her arm to cradle the wound. Instead, she ducked with just enough time to dodge the swing that came directly for her skull.

Normally, she tried to rest her throat between shouts. It strained her, to do it quickly one after the next without a break and in most fights, she tended to not even use the power of her voice. Normally, she’d stand a chance without it. But now, she forced it out, spitting the words without a care to the damage it could cause.

“ _Tiid klo ul_!”

With her words, time slowed. Mera ignored the harsh pain in her throat as she moved out of the way from the next attempt at her with ease, and watched as Hircine twirled his spear in his hand in what she assumed was an attempt to face the point towards her. She leaned in, using her clear speed advantage in the moment to attempt to draw blood. Swiping in with her swords, she crossed them violently in front of her in a quick jerk of her arms.

Without any armor to protect him her blades met his skin. It was thicker than she thought, more like a hide than soft mortal flesh, but it still cut, and it definitely still bled. Unlike the deep red she’d grown so used to seeing in her fights with both the _joorre_ and the _dov_ , the daedra bled black, and her eyes went wide as time came rushing back to her.

Mera stumbled back a step, fixating on the fact that she’d managed to wound a Daedric Lord. Her hands shook with the realization as Hircine seemed to pause, looking down at his chest and the blood that ran freely down his skin with something akin to fascination. Of course he surprised her by laughing.

It was a hearty sound, unlike what she’d expect from a Prince who’d allowed a mortal to successfully land a strike on him. But laugh he did, throwing his head back with it. For a moment she was stunned before she managed to gather herself enough to attempt another attack while he was distracted. Abruptly he stopped his laughter, throwing out a hand towards her and with it came his wolf, jumping up and forcing her back. She had to stumble to avoid having it bite at her body, and she only just avoided collision. The wolf snapped at her, but didn’t continue forward as Hircine spoke.

“Well done, dragon! Drawing first blood,” His other wolf ran behind her, snapping at her legs and driving her forward and closer to the Lord. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when facing your shouts, but I’m not disappointed.”

He snapped his fingers, and the wolf leapt, grabbing at her arm and it was all she could do but bash it on the head with the blunt end of her sword. It barely missed. She didn’t have a chance to be grateful for avoiding it before she felt a sharp stab in her side. A cry slipped from her lips as she pulled herself away before he could drive it in too deep, but she knew he’d punctured her armor. She could feel her hot blood wet on her side against her skin, and she looked up at Hircine with death in her eyes.

“No matter,” he continued, not even sounding strained from his hit on her, or from the wound on his chest. “You cannot delay your death.” His muscles tensed again as he moved to attack again, and despite the ache in her throat she used her voice again.

“ _Fo krah diin_!” A blizzard escaped from her mouth, hitting Hircine with the blunt of its frost. As with mortals, the cold slowed his movements, if only slightly, and she was able to stumble away from his incoming strike.

His swipe came into empty air and he growled, but Mera felt no satisfaction in it. She was doing well, holding her own, but she was tiring. Her adrenaline could only hold her for so long before it gave out, and without properly sleeping and eating the past few days, she was at a severe disadvantage. Did Daedric Princes ever tire?

Still, though the frequent shouts were exhausting her, they made her dragon’s soul sing. Defiance and a need to dominate raised inside of her, and she felt like she could breath smoke as she met his challenge.

Her throat ached when she spoke, but she still needed to say it. “Say what you will, Hircine. It doesn’t matter. _Zu'u Dovahkiin_! Slayer of the World Eater, Champion of the Divines. You and your kind have no hold on me.”

Hircine laughed again and it boomed from his chest. He rushed her, hitting her hard with his spear in the same place he had stabbed her, causing her to double over as he abruptly moved again, driving it into the junction between her shoulder and neck. Mera nearly collapsed under the harsh assault when during all this, his wolf latched onto her leg.

Before she could fall, she felt a firm hand grasp her shoulder. Hircine was close, so close, and in one swift movement he yanked her towards him, driving the point of his spear into her stomach. Her whole sight was filled with the intensity of Hircine’s eyes, which she could see through the holes in the skull for the first time. They were bloodshot, dark and heated as he forced his weapon further into her, past her armor and into the flesh of her torso.

A harsh, brutal cry of pain was ripped from her, the force of it mixing with her _thu’um_ and causing a tremor in the earth beneath her feet. Frantically, she grabbed at the staff of it, holding it as still as she could to prevent him from driving it in any further. Her world was white with hot pain as he tried to force it in further, but her hands managed to hold strong.

Mera thought of Alduin. Of his razor sharp teeth digging into her flesh. Of the blood that painted the snow on the top of High Hrothgar. Of the fortune that had Odahviing bringing her to the aid of the Greybeards, just in time.

She wouldn’t get that lucky twice.

Her vision swam with black and red as he released her and pulled the spear from her flesh. One hand went to grasp numbly at her flesh, holding it to keep her blood inside as she wobbled on her feet. Was the wound deep? It felt deep, but so had the wounds Alduin inflicted, so had the stab that Mercer had delt, and she survived those, didn’t she? Blinking the blur from her eyes, she could see Hircine again coming closer, closer, closer, speaking to her in his harsh voice but she no longer could comprehend the words.

And then the world shook again, but with much more force, and Mera fell off her feet, onto the ground hard, barely catching herself from lying flat and managing to stay mostly upright on her knees.

“What!?” Hircine roared the word, and his scream was met with an unearthly screech the likes of which she had never heard.

 _Stay._ **_Awake_ **!

She closed her eyes tightly, squeezing the darkness out of her vision and when she opened them, an unknown horror met her gaze. A monster, and that was the only way she could describe it, huge and oozing, stood in the middle of the forest, facing Hircine in what she could only assume was a challenge. And then a second crawled out of the earth beside it, shrieking its rage as it grabbed the wolf that ran towards it and threw it into its master. When it stomped, green tentacles shot up through the earth like spikes.

 _Get up_!

The voice in her mind screamed at her and she scrambled, only vaguely recognizing that the voice wasn’t hers. Getting to her feet had her head swimming and her whole vision went black for a split second before she regained herself.

 _Run. This way_.

Mera couldn’t run, but she did move, stumbling away from the battle that was now taking place behind her between Hircine and the monsters that looked like they crawled straight out of Oblivion. Maybe they had. She moved as quickly as she could deeper into the forest, using the dense greenery to cover her.  As she went, red dripped into the light snow beneath her feet, leading a trail to her, should Hircine decide to follow.

By the time he was done with those creatures, though, she could already be dead.

Hot tears pricked the corner of her eyes as she limped her way through the brush. Days ago, she felt ready to welcome this but now… now she was afraid. The uncertainty of her afterlife rang fresh in her mind as she thought of the world she’d been placed in and the people she’d come to care for there. Aela, Vilkas, Farkas, Delvin, Karliah, Sapphire, Rune, Lydia, Rayya. Brynjolf.

Mera wasn’t ready to die.

She came to a stop suddenly when she found a clearing. A dragon burial mound, there was no mistaking it. Mera nearly choked on the irony. She tried to turn, to run back but her heart stopped when something grabbed her by the shoulder. 

“Finally,” it breathed, and a hand went over her mouth before she could yell in shock. Another huge hand joined hers on her stomach, putting pressure on her wound as the source spoke in her ear. “Easy, my sweet, easy…” He turned her, pressing her back against a bolder and keeping his hands firmly on her as she finally got to see his face.

Sanguine stared down at her with a smile on his face that seemed grossly out of place given the situation, but even in her fog she could see it was only surface level. His eyes moved constantly, darting between her face, her wounds, and then to the side where he was no doubt looking for Hircine. His hand came off her mouth, and it was all she could do but keep breathing as the situation settled in her hazy mind. She found herself feeling thankful for the support of the solid rock face behind her, because even in Sanguine’s strength she felt ready to collapse.

“The trouble you find, Champion...” Sanguine was close to her, and even in this state she found herself wanting to meet him, lean into him and his intoxicating aura.

“Sanguine…” she managed to say his name, and she felt more than heard him chuckle.

“Easy, Mera.”

“What are…?”

“I’m here to offer you sanctuary,” Sanguine started to explain, and she felt one of his knees press firmly between her thighs as she started to slip down, holding her upright with something to perch on.

Mera was breathing hard, taking in quick gasps while she broke out in sweat, shuddering violently. This close to her, Sanguine was so warm, and she wanted to bury herself in it. Weakly, she tried to use her hand that wasn’t holding her stomach to pull him in closer, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Stay with me… It’s very rude not to accept the offer of a Daedric Prince, you know…”

“What…?” She started again, trying to focus on his words.

“I’m offering you a place, Mera. Where you’ll be safe. Come with me, to the Myriad Realms. The Misty Grove… We had such good times, didn’t we?” She felt his lips, hot like the Skyforge, ghost against the skin near her ear. “Do you understand what I’m offering you?”

Her vision was blurring, and she heard Sanguine curse and pulse went through her that started from his hand, harshly waking her back into something of coherency. “Mhm… ” She understood, because Hermaeus Mora had offered her the same.

In the distance, she heard a roar, and Sanguine pulled back, growling lowly in a language she couldn’t understand.

“Good, good…” He turned his attention back to her, speaking with more urgency. “Let me keep you, my sweet. You’ll be safe with me…. I swear it, I’ll keep you safe.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. Don’t let them keep you. Odahviing’s words rang in her mind in a moment of clarity. This is what he’d warned her of. She knew, then, that this was a terrible idea. That she should say no and meet her fate with dignity on her own and yet…

And yet she so badly wanted to say yes.

Sanguine’s grin was infectious as he loomed over her. “So what say you, Champion?”

She knew what her answer would be before she even could part her lips.

 

* * *

 

Brynjolf knew they were running out of time. He’d seen how bad Hircine hurt her, she had to be running low on blood, now. In fact, he was surprised to see she’d even managed to get as far from the main fight as she did once the beasts crawled out from whatever pit of Oblivion they were from.

The beasts, with their huge black and grey bodies and green tentacles that followed their movements like organic spears.

He didn’t want to keep thinking on them.

It was impossible to see her around the other daedra. He’d determined quietly that it had to be Sanguine who had cornered her against the rock. He wished he could remember what he was the Prince of - maybe knowing would have made watching him manhandle her easier. As it was now, seeing him press fully against her made his stomach clench with what he thought was anger.

They had to get her with an arrow soon, that much was clear to him. If they didn’t, either Sanguine would take her or she would actually die, neither of which were appealing options to Brynjolf. Not to mention how negatively Nocturnal was bound to react.

“Damn it all,” he cursed. “I can’t get a clear shot, lass.”

“Neither can I,” Karliah grit through her teeth.

“We’ll move. Further up that way, maybe we can see around him,” he tried to keep his voice calm, but it strained anyway.

Karliah nodded curtly, and together they stayed low, clinging to the shadows as they inched their way to a new position.

Until he felt a hand on his shoulder and a blade at his throat. He was ripping backwards, held tightly by a strong arm and in his ear a feminine voice hissed. “Honorless sneak!”

He _knew_ that voice.

Somewhere behind him he heard Karliah grunt in pain as she was no doubt attacked in the same way. It only took that long for it to click.

“Aela!” He spat the name out as soon as it came to him.

He was spun without care and his hood was ripped carelessly off his head. He came face to face with the redheaded Nord and she let him go in shock. “Brynjolf?”

His eyes darted around, seeing her two Companions hold tightly to Karliah, though they didn’t keep the blade to her throat. They looked equally as confused - and as angry - as Aela did.

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” She hissed

“We could ask you the same,” was his reply.

Karliah shook the hand on her arm off, speaking lowly. “We’re here on our Lady’s bidding.”

“Lady’s…?” One of the men started, eyes darting around constantly, like he was watching for something. He noticed a hint of yellow in their eyes. Brynjolf wished he could remember his name

“Nocturnal,” Brynjolf said quickly. “We don’t have time to explain. You’re here to help?” His question got a curt nod from the group. “Then we-”

He was cut off by a deafening roar, closer than before. His eyes went wide as he dropped down, trying to hide behind the brush. Smartly, he noticed the Companions did the same. The fight was still raging, but it was moving ever closer to where Mera was hiding with Sanguine. With wide eyes the thief looked to Karliah, who was forcing one of the men’s head’s down further below the bush, keeping the bulking warriors from exposing their position.  

Quickly, he spared a glance at the rock where Sanguine had Mera.

They’d separated, and he was leaning back from her, clearly keeping an eye out for the encroaching battle. He could see her clearly, now, exposed and weak, nearly falling if not for the support the Lord still gave her. Even from this distance, even in the dark, he thought he could see the blood that soaked through the hole in her armor. Above him, a raven cried.

Brynjolf didn’t think, he just acted. He stood to full height, arming himself with his bow and one of the tainted arrows he had in his possession. Inhale. Taking aim, he pointed the tip at her chest, staying farther from her heart than Karliah probably would, but he didn’t have time to figure out how accurate his aim was. He closed one eye, and the world seemed to slow around him. Exhale.

Brynjolf let the arrow fly.

 

* * *

 

Sanguine knew he had Mera before he even opened his mouth to ask the question. She was leaning heavily on the rock face behind her, half alive, but even now he could feel her pull towards him. All he had to do was get her to agree. “So what say you, Champion?”

She looked up at him, eyes clouded from blood loss. He could hear her heartbeat in her chest, racing like a rabbit’s. At this point, Sanguine was sure the only thing that could save her was Oblivion. There were no mortal healers that could bring a person back from this. Her too pale lips parted, and he waited impatiently for her yes.

It never came. Instead, a ragged gasp was ripped from her throat as an arrow, dark as the night that surrounded them, plunged right into the Dragonborn’s chest. Sanguine caught in his arms, keeping her from completely collapsing. Her lips hung open as she raggedly took in breaths, and her eyes were fixed on a point in the distance. He turned, whipping his head around just in time to catch a shadow move half hidden by a tree.

Nocturnal. The _selfish_ bitch! She’d rather see his Champion dead than let him keep her. He cursed in daedric, letting the words roll out of his throat with a growl as she listened to Mera’s pulse fade in her veins. There would be no saving her, now.

It was a pity, really, to have her die like this. His own heart almost hurt at the prospect. It’d been so long since a mortal had held his attention for so long and he’d be sad to see that lost. But such was the way with mortals. Always dying. A roar in the distance reminded him of the more emanate threat. Sanguine was surprised to see Hermaeus’ lurkers enter the fray, and he knew that it would only hold Hircine off for so long. Now was time for damage control.

With a heavy sigh, he slowly lowered Mera gently to the ground.

Her eyes were wide and frightened, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as he settled her down. He frowned looking at her, and placed a hand on her head. Sanguine leaned in, letting his lips ghost against her too cold cheek as he whispered his goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Mera didn’t have the strength to scream when she felt the sharp pain hit her chest, but she did manage a harsh and desperate cry as he knees threatened to give out from under her. She was surprised to feel Sanguine’s strong arms catch her as she fell. She was so, so cold but even through his armor she could feel the Princes’ heat.

Vision swimming, she looked into the direction the arrow came from. Red hair moving quickly, shrouded by shadows. Even in her fog she knew exactly who’d hit her.

If the arrow to her chest didn’t hit her heart, knowing that Brynjolf was at the other end of it certainly did. In that moment, everything had become clear. Nocturnal intended to take her out, to keep her from Sanguine and from Hircine, and she’d enlisted her Nightingales to do it.

And Brynjolf and Karliah, they just… went along with it.

Hot tears pricked painfully in the corner of her eyes and desperately she looked to Sanguine. Yes. She wanted to tell him _yes_ and have him take her far away from here, deep into the Myriad Realms where hopefully she’d be free of this pain.

Instead, Sanguine lowered her to the ground.

No. No no no no no. She waited to fight, to kick and to scream and to shout. This wasn’t how she was meant to go, nearly ripped apart by Hircine and then betrayed by her friends. But she couldn’t move. She could barely _breathe_.

Sanguine’s hot hand came to rest on her forehead as he brushed her hair out of her face.

 _He’s abandoning you. They…._ **_all_ ** _abandoned you_.

She blinked and he leaned in, brushing his lips against her and she wanted nothing more than to lean into the warmth of him. His voice floated in her ear.

“I’m so sorry, my sweet. You’ll find peace in Aetherius.”

 _But this…. does not have to be the end_.

She felt the strange voice infect her like a poison as Sanguine stood and left her field of vision. Like oil, it slipped over her, invading her mind and filling all of her gaps as she tried to cling to the strings of life.

 _Come with me…. to_ **_Apocrypha_ ** . _What say you… my Champion?_

Hermaeus Mora seemed to slide into her very being as he spoke directly into her mind. Somewhere, in the distance, she heard yelling, fighting, and a loud horrible crash. Her vision clouded as she looked up at the twin moons in the sky.

Like a ghost, her body, mind and soul all screamed her answer.

 **_Yes_ **.

In that moment her whole body went alight. Every fiber of her felt consumed by fire as harsh, slimy tentacles spit out of the earth, out of the rock and out of her body. They gripped at her and to Mera, it felt like her very existence was being ripped apart. The world lit up in an impossible glow. Mouth hanging open, she screamed. Or at least she thought she screamed. If she could scream.

Mera closed her eyes and she let herself burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is. What you've all been waiting for. The last chapter. Or, the last real chapter, anyway.  
> The next one won't be nearly as long as this. 
> 
> I've been waiting to get to this point for so long, it feels like forever ago I started working on this awful plan. I hope you aren't too angry with me. 
> 
> This chapter was probably the hardest to write. As always, I literally beg for feedback. This took me WEEKS to finish so please. Pls. I beg. 
> 
> See you soon!


	11. Praan, Bahlaan Thur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation: Rest, worthy overlord
> 
> I will be putting translations in the notes

By the time the Daedric Lords had taken their fight to Oblivion and the snow stopped falling from the sky, all that was left of the Dragonborn was bones. 

Vilkas had been with Mera on plenty of dragon hunts. For a while, after she’d tested her strength against them and realized more of her power, it’d been exciting to go out and fight alongside the Dragonborn of legend, especially when that legend was a friend. But no matter how many times he tagged along he’d never stopped being amazed at the end of the fight. Once the dragon fell and crashed into the earth, Mera would stand before it as it went up in flames, coming apart as an energy rushed towards her, leaving nothing but bones where a great beast had once been. 

He’d never expected that the same thing would happen to Mera when she died. 

The five of them made an odd group, three Companions and two night thieves, all mourning the same skeleton. Vilkas didn’t like to think of it as Mera. It felt wrong, to look a pile of bones and to name them for his fallen sister. When Kodlak had died, it was different. At least he had the closure that he didn’t even realize came with the sight of a physical body. This… it was too easy to dissociate it from his friend. When he looked into the empty eye sockets, it was hard to feel anything but numbness. 

Still, in a way it was fitting. Mera always did say she was a dragon, and this… this was how dragons died. Perhaps she would have wanted it this way. 

The thief, Brynjolf, he had to remind himself, made his way slowly over to where her bones lay still in the snow. He got down on one knee beside her and extended one hand like he intended to touch her, before pulling it back and clenching it into a fist. 

It took a lot of explaining to keep Vilkas from Brynjolf’s throat. When the thief fired the arrow directly at Mera’s heart, the Companion had felt the wolf in him stir and threaten to come out. He understood, now, what it was supposed to do. And the only thing that remained from the battle now was a single loose arrow that sat in her hollow rib cage. With care, Brynjolf removed it, turning it over in his hands before throwing it to the side, out of sight. 

“We need to wrap her,” The elf, Karliah is what Vilkas thought he heard Brynjolf call her, spoke softly. 

“Aye, that’d be best,” the man replied, his voice stiff.

Vilkas nodded wordlessly in agreement and went digging through his pack. They were right, of course. If they needed to move, which they would soon, they couldn’t afford to scramble with her remains. As heavy and awkward as it would be, he had a bear pelt they could use to keep her wrapped in travel. He laid it out on the snow covered ground, ignoring how some of it was still stained with blood. 

Aela stalked over to them and Vilkas almost visibly flinched. The Huntress was a violent griever, they’d learned that when Skjor passed. It was no secret how close the two were, and when Skjor was killed, Aela went out as a wolf nearly every night that followed, feasting on the bodies of any bandit that crossed her path. They couldn’t afford that here, not now. 

Instead of turning into a beast, she got down on the ground on the other side of the bones, ready to help. As carefully as possible, they moved the pelt underneath her body. Once she was securely inside, Vilkas took initiative to attentively wrap her securely in a bundle. It was surprisingly easier to handle once he was no longer forced to look at the off white color of her bones. 

Vilkas stood, leaving her on the ground while Brynjolf placed a hand on the fur that now covered her. Looking behind him he saw Farkas, the complete opposite picture of Aela. While the Huntress was tense and angry, Farkas slumped, sad and exhausted. His brother lifted his head to look at him and Vilkas puffed out his chest. He really was Harbinger now, he had to lead them.

Defying Mera’s last order to him had been a choice he debated hard on, but Aela’s logic couldn’t be argued with. They didn’t have to get involved in the fight, but they should be there for the aftermath. To either nurse her back to health or… 

Vilkas sighed. The strange dent in the earth where they were now left them far too exposed. They had to move. “We’re not far from a cave,” he started. It was too late for them to head home now, and traveling while the grief was so fresh would be dangerous. “We can-” 

“Shh!” Aela cut him off abruptly, raising one hand to signal silence. Vilkas quickly shut his lips, eyes wide as Aela looked to the sky. The dark elf grabbed at her bow, raising up to her feet and looking up into the dark as well. Vilkas strained his ears, trying to figure out what exactly it was that caught Aela’s attention. And then he heard it. 

The distant sound of a roar in the sky. 

Vilkas drew his greatsword without hesitation. He cursed himself for not considering this situation. When Mera would shout in the wilds of Skyrim, often a dragon would answer her call and come to challenge her, and during her battle she used her voice more than usual. That was how they found her, it would be safe to assume that others could then find her, too. 

Without Mera, they couldn’t kill a dragon. At least, that was his understanding of it. Maybe they could stall it, or wound it, but put it down? He wasn’t sure. “Take cover!” He commanded, and the five of them scattered, running for the thick tree line that surrounded them. He only paused for long enough to grab Mera’s bundle and tuck her behind a bush once they were safely in cover. 

In the thick of it there was more to take cover behind, should fire or frost start to fly around. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the red of Brynjolf’s hair disappeared as he pulled up his hood, and the whole man seemed to vanish into the shadow. Vilkas doubted the man would flee. Thief he may be, but Mera didn’t surround herself with people who would abandon her like this. Not really. 

The flapping got louder, and another roar filled the air. Vilkas moved, clinging to the shadows the best he could as he approached his brother. He flexed his grip on his greatsword, ready to charge should the dragon decide to land. 

It roared once more, except this time it was quickly followed by a further, more distant cry in the sky. 

Two. Two dragons. Vilkas looked down, cursing under his breath as he listened to Farkas shift uneasily. 

It was only another moment before he caught sight of the beast, hovering above the clearing before landing hard just outside of the dent in the earth, near one of the standing stones that surrounded it. 

It was a brilliant shade of red, leaner and more lethal looking than what Vilkas remembered other dragons looking like. “ _ Deytaan staag… _ ” It growled out the words as it tilted its head like an oversized dog at the spot it landed near. It always surprised Vilkas when they spoke. Remembering that they were intelligent, maybe even more so than mortals were, shook him more than just thinking of them as mindless monsters. If it spoke again, it was drowned out by the sound of flapping as another landed on the other side of the clearing. 

If the red dragon was thin, made for fast flight and close battles, this one was the opposite. It was larger than the first one, bulkier and much, much paler, looking more ghostly and ancient. 

“ _ Viinturuth staag… rok lost kosaan krinaan naal Dovahkiin? _ ” The white one spoke. 

“ _ Geh. Thuri drun mok wah viik. Alduin drey ni dren. Golt fey zahraan. _ ” Vilkas closed his eyes in frustration. Mera had tried to learn the dragon language. She’d studied it in her free time, explaining to them how annoying it was to have them talk at her and for her not to understand. He didn’t really get it, then, but now it made much more sense. “ _ Dreh hi koraav ek? _ ”

“ _ Nid. Zu'u honah ek dinok nol het. Mu los lov. _ ” Silence. Then, “ _ Hi mindok fos krii ek, dreh hi ni? Dreh ni nok wah zey. _ _ ” _

The red dragon lowered its head and growled lowly. “ _ Hi dreh ni uth zey." _

The elder dragon raised up, hissing, “ _ Hi fen thaar hin thur _ - ”

“ _ Hi los ni thuri _ ! ” They snapped at each other growling out in what he assumed was anger, and Vilkas held his breath. If they were distracted by infighting, then maybe, just maybe they could escape. 

And then the red dragon turned its head and looked directly at him. 

How well could dragons see in the dark? 

The beast roared, crawling forward the way they did with their wings. “ _ Meyus jorre! _ ” It roared the words. “ _ Nust los tafiirre, los ni nust? Zu'u fen krii hi kolos hi kriist! _ ” 

Beside him Farkas darted to the right, moving to be ready to flank the dragon as Vilkas held fast with his sword. Aela drew her bow, aiming an arrow as the dragon roared. 

“ _ Drem, Odahviing! _ ” The white dragon hit the red with its weight. 

The red one screeched fire at the sky. “ _B_ _ eyn nau hin drem! _ ” It turned its attention back to them. “ _ Fen hi grah Odahviing? _ ” The earth shook as it slammed its tail into the ground. It was challenging them, and Vilkas readied himself to enter the fray. 

But then he heard Aela. “Wait!” Vilkas nearly screamed at her as she ran out into the clearing, bow raised above her head in a sign of surrender. “Odahviing!” 

Then it clicked. The words the dragons were saying weren’t all incomprehensible. One had been a name. Odahviing. That was the dragon that Mera had trapped in Dragonsreach. The one whos back she rode on to get to Sovngarde. Mera had even called him an ally, once. 

Odahviing lowered his head, looking like a saber cat ready to pounce on its prey as it (he?) hissed. “ _Hi mindok dii faan?_ ” He looked at the white one before turning back to Aela, “ _Zeymahzinne do Dovahkiin_ _?_ Do you know _thuri_?”

Aela nodded, standing remarkably proud and tall in front of the massive form of the two dragons now staring her down. “I am Aela the Huntress. The Dragonborn is my shield sister,” Aela brought her fist to her chest, holding it there firmly, “We fought together in battle.” The Huntress raised her chin as the dragon put its head closer to her, close enough where a swift movement could end with her between his teeth, but she didn’t flinch. 

The white dragon spoke, eyes moving around the tree line as if searching to see how many of them there were. “Hmm.  _ Drem yol lok _ , Huntress. I am  _ Paarthurnax _ , leader of the Greybeards and  _ thur _ of the  _ dov _ .” 

Vilkas’ brows shot upwards. Mera never mentioned the leader of the Greybeards was a dragon. It made sense, of course it made sense, but…

Taking careful, gradual steps he entered the clearing to stand beside Aela. The Huntress shot him a look out of the corner of her eyes, looking at his sword. Exhaling slowly, he made a show of sheathing is blade. A sign of trust.

“Why are you here?” Vilkas asked, finding enough strength to add some force to his words, even if it was just hallow bravado. 

Paarthurnax’s eyes turned to him and Vilkas nearly felt himself wilt, but he remained firm. He found himself feeling an entirely new level of respect of Mera, in that moment, for being able to stare down a dragon and speak without flinching. 

“ _ Dovahkiin _ has fallen. We have felt it.  _ Ek sil faan mii ko dinok. Dovah _ souls call their  _ fron _ , their kin, in death.  _ Pogaan dovah bo wah Monahven fah Dovahkiin _ . We came to take her to the Throat of the World. Do you have her?” 

Vilkas frowned, narrowing his eyes. Did they expect them to simply give her up? She belonged with Kodlak and the other Harbingers at Jorrvaskr, lain to rest within the Skyforge. What right did they have to take her, to keep her on the top of some mountain? 

By right of blood.

The answer came to him even when he didn’t want it to. And before he could even bring himself to respond, he heard heavy footsteps crunching in the snow. Turning his head, he found Farkas approaching from behind, looking somber with a bundle in his arms. His heart clenched in his chest and he kept eye contact with his brother as he approached both dragons. 

A low rumble came from the red beast at the sight of it. The wilds of Skyrim were filled with the sound of Odahviing’s attempt at walking, coming closer to Farkas as he carefully laid her before the dragon. 

Vilkas was surprised at the gentleness that came from such a large and deadly creature as he lowered his head down, nearly touching the ground when he did. He spoke lowly, voice softer than the loud boom he’d come to expect from their breed. “ _Dovahkiin…. bahlaan thur. Deyra drey daar. Zu'u naav hi, drey Zu'u ni?_ _Hin sil fen praan pruzah voth Bormah._ ”

“ _ Deyra vothiz? Veistul ulfah. _ ” Paarthurnax growled out his words before exhaling, a trail of smoke spilling from his nose. “ _ Pogaan nox _ . Thank you, for delivering her too us.  _ Odahviing _ will asure she returns safely.” 

Vilkas wasn’t sure when Brynjolf had emerged, but he supposed the thief was silent enough to sneak by him without calling attention to his movements, and that he must have come out some time after they determined the dragons weren’t an immediate threat. He crouched beside the bundle, placing a hand on the fur and running his fingers through it before standing tall. Odahviing didn’t take his eyes off the thief the entire time, keeping a steady watch. It made Vilkas feel marginally better, but not by much. 

“Stand back,  _ joorre _ .” Odahviing commanded and after a moment of hesitation they all stepped back, further and closer to the trees. 

The dragon moved forward and with one huge clawed foot he grabbed the wrap firmly, digging his talons into the pelt to strengthen his grip. 

With a few great, strong flaps of his wings Odahviing lifted off the ground and Vilkas lifted his arm to block his eyes from any debris that got kicked up. “ _ Koraav hi ahst Monahven, Paarthurnax. Zu'u fen kos til lingrah us hi lif golt! _ ” He roared, barking out what sounded almost like a laugh. 

Paarthurnax rumbled in return, and Vilkas felt deeply uncomfortable. 

He wanted to go home, go back to Jorrvaskr where he could find peace. Where he could grieve. There, where he would rise to become Harbinger when he tells the Companions of the news, explaining the loss the best they can. And once that was done they would drink and tell ehr stories. Tell how she killed that first dragon. How she gutted that bear. About the time she outdrank Tovar, or how she beat Farkas in that fight. They would raise their tankards to the woman who stumbled into Jorrvaskr, lost and unknown and emerged one of the most capable warriors he had ever known. 

He didn’t think he could sleep in the Harbinger’s bed. Not yet, at least. 

Paarthurnax spared them another glance before flapping his massive torn wings hard, hovering in the air with more grace than he expected for something as ragged as him. 

“Worry not,  _ joorre _ . With us,  _ Dovahkiin _ will find rest.  _ Praan _ .” And with that he turned upwards and flew, far up into the sky. Vilkas watching the red moon until the sound of flapping wings faded into the distance. 

When he looked back to earth, the thieves were gone, vanished into the night. It was for the best, he thought. Having them around only made things more complicated. 

Aela looked at him, eyes hard and lips pressed into a firm line. “I want to run.” 

He understood what she meant. 

“Will you join me?” She continued. 

Farkas shifted, itching at his arm and Vilkas lowered his head. One last time, for Mera. One last time. He nodded stiffly, and he let the beast rip its way out of his chest, leaving him to howl at the moons. 

 

In Apocrypha, the Last Dragonborn struggled against her binds and screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! The end! Sort of.... first things first there WILL be a direct sequel to this, so don't fret. We're not done with Mera yet! But she is in Apocrypha now, so we'll have to see exactly what will happen next! 
> 
> I know a lot of you aren't super happy with the outcome - this is the "bad" ending, I know. But things need to get worse before they can get better. If I ended it with Sanguine or Nocturnal, where would the story even go from there? 
> 
> So, promises for the sequel: I promise nothing except for Herma-Mora and ya boi, Miraak. I've been looking forward to this for a long time so I could bring him into the story, I hope I don't disappoint you. 
> 
> As always, please give me feedback! I want to keep giving ya'll the best I can give. I'll be posting news and updates to my tumblr, paar-pahlok, so hit me up on there if you want to like, for real get into it or ask me things that you can't do in the comment section. 
> 
> Side note, I don't know if I ever mentioned it but this story takes place a few months after After His Fall, so I'm probably going to write some quick fics that take place in the middle
> 
>  
> 
> BELOW IS THE TRANSLATION FOR THE DOVAHZUL SPOKEN BETWEEN THE DRAGONS 
> 
>  
> 
> P: Viinturuth staag… rok lost kosaan krinaan naal Dovahkiin? - Viinturuth barrow … he has been slain by Dragonborn?  
> O: Geh. Thuri drun mok wah viik. Alduin drey ni dren. Golt fey zahraan. Dreh hi koraav ek? - Yes. my Overlord brought him to defeat. Alduin did not act. (the) Ground stay hollow. Do you see her?   
> P: Nid. Zu'u honah ek dinok nol het. Mu los lov. Hi mindok fos krii ek, dreh hi ni? Dreh ni nok wah zey.- No. I sensed her death from here. we are near. You know what kill(ed) her, do you not? Do not lie to me.   
> O: Hi dreh ni uth zey. - You do not command me  
> P: Hi fen thaar hin thur - You will obey your overlord  
> O: Hi los ni thuri! - You are not my overlord!   
> O: Meyus jorre! Nust los tafiirre, los ni nust? Zu'u fen krii hi kolos hi kriist! - Foolish mortals! They are thieves, are they not? I will kill you where you stand!   
> P: Drem, Odahviing - Peace, Odahviing!   
> O: Beyn nau hin drem! Fen hi grah Odahviing? - Scorn on your peace! Will you battle Odahviing?   
> O: Hi mindok dii faan? Zeymahzinne do Dovahkiin? You know my call? Companions of Dragonborn?   
> O: Dovahkiin…. bahlaan thur. Deyra drey daar. Zu'u naav hi, drey Zu'u ni? Hin sil fen praan pruzah voth Bormah. - Dovahkiin…. worthy overlord. Daedra did this. I warn you, did I not? Your soul will rest good with Father.   
> P: Deyra vothiz? Veistul ulfah. - Daedra involve? Wicked creatures.   
> O: Koraav hi ahst Monahven, Paarthurnax. Zu'u fen kos til lingrah us hi lif golt! - See you at Throat of the world, Paarthurnax. I will be there long before you leave ground!


End file.
